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PA
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THE
DIALOGUES OF PLATO
JOWETT
VOL. IV.
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Bonlon
HENRY FROWDE
Oxford University Press Warehouse
Amen Corner, £.C.
(Sim ^orft
II a Fourth Avenue
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THE
DIALOGUES OF PLATO
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH
WITH ANALYSES AND INTRODUCTIONS
BY
B. JOWETT, M.A.
MASTER OF BALLIOL COLLEGE
KBCIUS rROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
DOCTOR IN THEOLOGY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF LEYUEN
IN FIVE VOLUMES
VOL. IV
THIRD EDITION
REVISED AND CORRECTED THROUGHOUT, WITH MARGINAL ANALYSES
AND AN INDEX OF SUBIECTS AND PROPER NAMES
Ojrfori
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
M DCCC XCII
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PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
BY MORACB HART. PRIimiR TO THB UNIVBRSITY
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(1-
!
CONTENTS
PACK
PARMENIDES i
THEAETETUS 107
SOPHIST 281
STATESMAN 409
PHILEBUS 519
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PARMENIDES.
^'< VOL. IV.
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INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.
The awe with which Plato regarded the character of * the Par-
great ' Parmenides has extended to the dialogue which he caDs ^^*^^*
by his name. None of the writings of Plato have been more '"^J."*^
copiously illustrated, both in ancient and modern times, and
in none of them have the interpreters been more at variance
with one another. Nor is this surprising. For the Parmenides
is more fragmentary and isolated than any other dialogue, and
the design of the writer is not expressly stated. The date is
uncertain ; the relation to the other writings of Plato is also un-
certain; the connexion between the two parts is at first sight
extremely obscure ; and in the latter of the two we are left in
doubt as to whether Plato is speaking his own sentiments by the
lips of Parmenides, and overthrowing him out of his own mouth,
or whether he is propounding consequences which would have
been admitted by Zeno and Parmenides themselves. The con-
tradictions which follow from the hypotheses of the one and
many have been regarded by some as transcendental mysteries ;
by others as a mere illustration, taCein at random, of a new
method. They seem to have been inspired by a sort of dialectical
frenzy, such as may be supposed to have prevailed in the
Megarian School (cp. Cratylus 346, 407 £, etc.). The criticism on
his own doctrine of Ideas has also been considered, not as a
real criticism, but as an^^xubenaQceof the metaphysical imagin-
ation which enabled Plato to go beyond himself. To the latter
part of the dialogue we may certainly apply the words in which
he himself describes the earlier philosophers in the Sophist
(243 A) : * They went on their way rather regardless of whether
we understood them or not.'
The Parmenides in point of style is one of the best of the
Platonic writings ; the first portion of the dialogue is in no way
defective in ease and grace and dramatic interest; nor in the
B 2
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The dramatic opening.
Par- second part, where there was no room for such qualities, is there
any want of clearness or precision. The latter half is an ex-
menides,
**tion"^' quisite mosaic, of Which the small pieces are with the utmost
fineness and regularity adapted to one another. Like the Pro-
tagoras, Phaedo, and others, the whole is a narrated dialogue,
combining with the mere recital of the words spoken, the
observations of the reciter on the effect produced by them. Thus
we are informed by him that Zeno and Parmenides were not
altogether pleased at the request of Socrates that they would
examine into the nature of the one and many in the sphere of
Ideas, although they received his suggestion with approving
smiles. And we are glad to be told that Parmenides was ' aged
but well-favoured,' and that Zeno was ' very good-looking ' ; also
that Parmenides affected to decline the great argument, on which,
as Zeno knew from experience, he was not unwilling to enter.
The character of Antiphon, the half-brother of Plato, who had
once been inclined to philosophy, but has now shown the
hereditary disposition for horses, is very naturally described.
He is the sole depositary of the famous dialogue ; but, although
he receives the strangers like a courteous gentleman, he is im-
patient of the trouble of reciting it. As they enter, he has been
giving orders to a bridle-maker; by this slight touch Plato
verifies the previous description of him. After a little per-
suasion he is induced to favour the Clazomenians, who come from
a distance, with a rehearsal. Respecting the visit of Zeno and
Parmenides to Athens, we may observe — first, that such a visit is
consistent with dates, and may possibly have occurred ; secondly,
that Plato is very likely to have invented the meeting (*You,
Socrates, can easily invent Egyptian tales or anything else,'
Phaedrus 275 B) ; thirdly, that no reliance can be placed on the
circumstance as determining the date of Parmenides and Zeno ;
fourthly, that the same occasion appears to be referred to by
Plato in two other places (Theaet. 183 E, Soph. 217 C).
Many interpreters have regarded the Parmenides as a * reductio
ad absurdum ' of the Eleatic philosophy. But would Plato have
been likely to place this in the mouth of the great Parmenides
himself, who appeared to him, in Homeric language, to be
^venerable and awful/. aDdto_ have a * glorious depth of mind*?
(Theaet. 183 E). It may be admitted that he has ascribea"TO"-mi —
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The object of the Parnienides.
Eleatic stranger in the Sophist opinions which went beyond the Par-
doctrines of the Eleatics. But the Eleatic stranger expressly
criticises the doctrines in which he had been brought up; he
admits that he is going to ' lay hands on his father Parmenides/
Nothing of this kind is said of Zeno and Parmenides. How then,
without a word of explanation, could Plato assign to them the
refutation of their own tenets ?
The conclusion at which we must arrive is that the Parmenides
is not a refutation of the Eleatic philosophy. Nor would such an
explanation afford any satisfactory connexion of the first and
second parts of the dialogue. And it is quite inconsistent with
Plato's own relation to the Eleatics. For of all the pre-Socratic
philosophers, he speaks of them with the greatest respect But
he could hardly have passed upon them a more unmeaning slight
than to ascribe to their great master tenets the reverse of those
which he actually held.
Two preliminary remarks may be made. First, that whatever
latitude we may allow to Plato in bringing together by a ' tour de
force,' as in the Phaedrus, dissimilar themes, yet he always in
some way seeks to find a connexion for them. Many threads
join together in one the love and dialectic of the Phaedrus. We
cannot conceive that the great artist would place in juxtaposition
two absolutely divided and incoherent subjects. And hence we
are led to make a second remark ; viz. that no explanation of the
Parmenides can be satisfactory which does not indicate the con-
nexion of the first and second parts. To suppose that Plato
would first go out of his way to make Parmenides attack the
Platonic Ideas, and then proceed to a similar but more fatal
assault on his own doctrine of 3eing, appears to be the height
of absurdity.
Perhaps there is no passage in Plato showing greater meta-
physical power than that in which he assails his own theory of
Ideas. The arguments are nearly, if not quite, those of Aristotle ;
they are the objections which naturally occur to a modem student
of philosophy. Many persons will be surprised to find Plato
criticizing the very conceptions which have been supposed in
after ages to be peculiarly characteristic of him. How can he
have placed himself so completely without them ? How can he
have ever persisted in them after seeing the fatal objections
menides,
iNTKomK:-
TION.
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Par-
menides^
Jntmoduc*
TION.
The genuineness of the Parmenides,
which might be urged against them ? The consideration of this
difficulty has led a recent critic (Ueberweg), who in general
accepts the authorized canon of the Platonic writings, to condemn
the Parmenides as spurious. The accidental want of external
evidence, at first sight, seems to favour this opinion.
In answer, it might be sufficient to say, that no ancient writing
of equal length and excellence is known to be spurious. Nor is
the silence of Aristotle to be hastily assumed ; there is at least
a doubt whether his use of the same arguments does not involve
the inference that he knew the work. And, if the Parmenides is
spurious, like Ueberweg, we are led on further than we originally
intended, to pass a similar condemnation on the Theaetetus and
Sophist, and therefore on the Politicus (cp. Theaet. 183 E, Soph.
217). But the objection is in reality fanciful, and rests on the
assumption that the doctrine of the Ideas was held by Plato
throughout his life in the same form. For the truth is, that the
Platonic Ideas were in constant process of growth and trans-
mutation ; sometimes veiled in poetry and mythology, then again
emerging as fixed Ideas, in some passages regarded as absolute
and eternal, and in others as relative to the human mind, existing
in and derived from external objects as well as transcending them.
The anctmnesisoii^^ Ideas is chiefiy insisted upon in the mythical
portions of the dialogues, and really occupies a very small space
in the entire works of Plato. Their transcendental existence is
not asserted, and is therefore implicitly denied in the Philebus ;
different forms are ascribed to them in the Republic, and they are
mentioned in the Theaetetus, the Sophist, the Politicus, and the
Laws, much as Universals would be spoken of in modern books.
Indeed, there are very faint traces of the transcendental doctrine
of Ideas, that is, of their existence apart from the mind, in any of
Plato's writings, with the exception of the Meno, the Phaedrus,
the Phaedo, and in portions of the Republic. The stereot3rped
form which Aristotle has given to them is not found in Plato (cp.
Essay on the Platonic Ideas in the Introduction to the Meno).
The full discussion of this subject involves a comprehensive
survey of the philosophy of Plato, which would be out of place
here. But, without digressing further from the immediate subject
of the Parmenides, wc may remark that Plato is quite serious in
his objections to his own doctrines ; nor does Socrates attempt to
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Analysts 126-127.
offer any answer to them. The perplexities which surround the
one and many in the sphere of the Ideas are also alluded to in the
Philebus, and no answer is given to them. Nor have they ever
been answered, nor can they be answered by any one else who
separates the phenomenal from the real. To suppose that Plato,
at a later period of his life, reached a point of view from which he
was able to answer them, is a groundless assumption. The real
progress of Plato's own mind has been partly concealed from us
by the dogmatic statements of Aristotle, and also by the de-
generacy of his own followers, with whom a doctrine of numbers
quickly superseded Ideas.
As a preparation for answering some of the difficulties which
have been suggested, we may begin by sketching the first portion
of the dialogue : —
Par-
menidts,
Introduo
TION.
126 Cephalus, of Clazomenae in Ionia, the birthplace of Anaxa- Analysis.
goras, a citizen of no mean city in the history of philosophy, who
is the narrator of the dialogue, describes himself as meeting
Adeimantus and Glaucon in the Agora at Athens. 'Welcome,
Cephalus : can we do anjrthing for you in Athens ? ' * Why, yes :
I came to ask a favour of you. First, tell me your half-brother's
name, which I have forgotten— he was a mere child when I was
last here ; — I know his father's, which is Pyrilampes.* * Yes, and
the name of our brother is Antiphon. But why do you ask ? ' * Let
me introduce to you some countrymen of mine, who are lovers of
philosophy; they have heard that Antiphon remembers a con-
versation of Socrates with Parmenides and Zeno, of which the
report came to him from Pythodorus, Zeno's friend.' *That is
quite true.' * And can they hear the dialogue ? * * Nothing easier ;
in the days of his youth he made a careful study of the piece ; at
present, his thoughts have another direction : he takes afler his
grandfather, and has given up philosophy for horses.'
1 27 * We went to look for him, and found him giving instructions to
a worker in brass about a bridle. When he had done with him,
and had learned from his brothers the purpose of our visit, he
saluted me as an old acquaintance, and we asked him to repeat
the dialogue. At first, he complained of the trouble, but he soon
consented. He told us that Pjrthodorus had described to him the
appearance of Parmenides and Zeno ; they had come to Athens
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8 Analysis 127-129.
Par- at the great Panathenaea, the former being at the time about
sixty-five years old, aged but well-favoured — Zeno, who was said
Analysis.
to have been beloved of Parmenides in the days of his youth,
about forty, and very good-looking: — that they lodged with
Pythodorus at the Ceramicus outside the wall, whither Socrates,
then a very young man, came to see them : Zeno was reading
one of his theses, which he had nearly finished, when Pjrthodorus
entered with Parmenides and Aristoteles, who was afterwards
one of the Thirty. When the recitation was completed, Socrates
.requested that the first thesis of the treatise might be read
again.'
' You mean, Zeno,' said Socrates, ' to argue that being, if it is
many, must be both like and unlike, which is a contradiction ;
and each division of your argument is intended to elicit a similar
absurdity, which may be supposed to follow from the assumption
that being is many.' 'Such is my meaning.' 'I see,' said 128
Socrates, turning to Parmenides, * that Zeno is your second self
in his writings too ; you prove admirably that the all is one : he
gives proofs no less convincing that the many are nought. To
deceive the world by saying the same thing in entirely different
forms, is a strain of art beyond most of us.' * Yes, Socrates,' said
Zeno ; * but though you are as keen as a Spartan hound, you do
not quite catch the motive of the piece, which was only intended
to protect Parmenides against ridicule by showing that the
hypothesis of the existence of the many involved greater ab-
surdities than the hypothesis of the one. The book was a
youthful composition of mine, which was stolen from me, and
therefore I had no choice about the publication.' * I quite believe
you,' said 3ocrates; *but will you answer me a question? I
should like to know, whether you would assume an idea of like- 1 29
ness in the abstract, which is the contradictory of unlikeness in
the abstracL by participation in either or both of which things
are like or unlike or partly both. For the same things may very
well partake of like and unlike in the concrete^ though like and
unlike in the abstract are irreconcileable. Nor does there appear
to me to be any absurdity in maintaining that the same things
may partake of the one and many, though I should be indeed
surprised to hear that the absolute one is also many. For
example, I, being many, that is to say, having many parts or
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Analysis 1 29-1 31. 9
members, am yet also one, and partake of the one, being one of Par-
seven who are here present (cp. Philebus 14, 15). This is not
an absurdity, but a truism. But I should be amazed if there were A****-^^"^
a similar entanglement in the nature of the ideas themselves, nor
130 can rbelieve that one and~many, like and unlike, rest and motion,
in the abstract, are capable either of admixture or of separation/
Pythodorus said that in his opinion Parmenides and Zeno were
not very well pleased at the questions which were raised ; never-
theless, they looked at one another and smiled in seeming delight
and admiration of Socrates. * Tell me,' said Parmenides, * do you
think that the abstract ideas of likeness, unity, and the rest, exist
apart from individuals which partake of them ? and is this your
own distinction?* *I think that there are such ideas.' *And
would you make abstract ideas of the just, the beautiful, the
good ? ' * Yes,' he said. * And of human beings like ourselves, of
water, fire, and the like ? ' * I am not certain.* * And would you
be undecided also about ideas of which the mention will, perhaps,
appear laughable : of hair, mud, filth, and other things which are
base and vile ? * * No, Parmenides ; visible things like these are,
as I believe, only what they appear to be : though I am sometimes
disposed to imagine that there is nothing without an idea ; but I
repress any such notion, from a fear of falling into an abyss of
nonsense.' *You are young, Socrates, and therefore naturally
regard the opinions of men ; the time will come when philosophy
will have a firmer hold of you, and you will not despise even the
meanest things. But tell me, is your meaning that things become
131 like by partaking of likeness, great by partaking of greatness, just
and beautiful by partaking of justice and beauty, and so of other
ideas?* *Yes, that is my meaning.' 'And do you suppose the
individual to partake of the whole, or of the part ? * < Why not of
the whole ? ' said Socrates. * Because,' said Parmenides, * in that
case the whole, which is one, will become many.' »Nay,' said
Socfates, * the whole may be like the day, which is one and in
many places : in this way the ideas may be one and also many.'
* In the same sort of way,' said Parmenides, * as a sail, which is
one, may be a cover to many— that is your meaning ? * * Yes.'
* And would you say that each man is covered by the whole sail,
or by a part only ? ' * By a part.' * Then the ideas have parts,
and the objects partake of a part of them only ? ' * That seems to
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lo Analysis 131-133.
Par- follow.' 'And would you like to say that the ideas arc really
divisible and yet remain one?' 'Certainly not.' 'Would you
Analysis.
venture to affirm that great objects have a portion only of great-
ness transferred to them ; or that small or equal objects are small
or equal because they are only portions of smallness or equality ? '
' Impossible.' ' But how can individuals participate in ideas, except
in the ways which I have mentioned ? ' * That is not an easy
question to answer.' ' I should imagine the conception of ideas to 132
arise as follows : you see great objects pervaded by a common
form or idea of greatness, which you abstract.' 'That is quite
true.' 'And supposing you embrace in one view the idea of
greatness thus gained and the individuals which it comprises, a
further idea of greatness arises, which makes both great ; and
this may go on to infinity.' Socrates replies that the ideas may
be thoughts in the mind only ; in this case, the consequence would
no longer follow. ' But must not the thought be of something
which is the same in all and is the idea ? And if the world par-
takes in the ideas, and the ideas are thoughts, must not all things
think ? Or can thought be without thought ? ' ' I acknowledge the
unmeaningness of this,' says Socrates, ' and would rather have re-
course to the explanation that the ideas are types in nature, and
that other things partake of them by becoming like them.' * But
to become like them is to be comprehended in the same idea ;
and the likeness of the idea and the individuals implies another 133
idea of likeness, and another without end.' ' Quite true.' * The
theory, then, of participation by likeness has to be given up.
You have hardly yet, Socrates, found out the real difficulty of
maintaining abstract ideas.' 'What difficulty?' 'The greatest
of all perhaps is this: an opponent will argue that the ideas
are not within the range of human knowledge; and you cannot
disprove the assertion without a long and laborious demonstration,
which he maybe unable or unwilling to follow. In the first place,
neither you nor any one who maintains the existence of absolute
ideas will affirm that they are subjective.' 'That would be a
contradiction.' * True ; and therefore any relation in these ideas
is a relation which concerns themselves only; and the objects
which are named after them, are relative to one another only, and
have nothing to do with the ideas themselves.' 'How do you
mean ? ' said Socrates. ' I may illustrate my meaning in this way:
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Analysis 133" US- '•
one of us has a slave ; and the idea of a slave in the abstract is Ar-
relative to the idea of a master in the abstract ; this correspond-
ence of ideas,- however, has nothing to do with the particular
134 relation of our slave to us.— Do you see my meaning?' 'Per-
fectly.* *And absolute knowledge in the same way corresponds
to absolute truth and being, and particular knowledge to particular
truth and being/ 'Clearly.* *And there is a subjective know-
ledge which is of subjective truth, having many kinds, general and
particular. But the ideas themselves are not subjective, and
therefore are not within our ken.* 'They are not.* 'Then the
beautiful and the good in their own nature are unknown to us ? *
' It would seem so.* ' There is a worse consequence yet* ' What
is that ? * 'I think we must admit that absolute knowledge is the
most exact knowledge, which we must therefore attribute to God.
But then see what follows: God, having this exact knowledge,
can have no knowledge of human things, as we have divided the
two spheres, and forbidden any passing from one to the other :—
the gods have knowledge and authority in their world only, as we
135 have in ours.' ' Yet, surely, to deprive God of knowledge is mon-
strous.*—' These are some of the di'Pficulties which are involved
in the assumption of absolute ideas ; the learner will find them
nearly impossible to understand, and the teacher who has to im-
part them will require superhuman ability; there will always be
a suspicion, either that they have no existence, or are beyond
human knowledge.* 'There I agree with you,' said Socrates.
'Yet if these difficulties induce you to give up universal ideas,
what becomes of the mind ? and where are the reasoning and
reflecting powers ? philosophy is at an end.' * I certainly do not
see my way.* * I think,' said Parmenides, * that this arises out of
your attempting to define abstractions, such as the good and the
beautiful and the just, before you have had sufficient previous
training ; I noticed your deficiency when you were talking with
Aristoteles, the day before yesterday. Your enthusiasm is a
wonderful gift ; but I fear that unless you discipline yourself by
dialectic while you are young, truth will elude your grasp.* 'And
what kind of discipline would you recommend ? * * The training
which you heard Zeno practising; at the same time, I admire
your saying to him that you did not care to consider the difficulty
in reference to visible objects, but only in relation to ideas.'
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12
Par-
ftunides.
Analysis.
Analysis 136.
*Yes; because I think that in visible objects you may easily show
any number of inconsistent consequences.' * Yes ; and you 136
should consider, not only the consequences which follow from a
given hypothesis, but the consequences also which follow from
the denial of the hypothesis. For example, what follows from the
assumption of the existence of the many, and the counter-
, argument of what follows from the denial of the existence of the
many : and similarly of likeness and unlikeness, motion, rest,
generation, corruption, being and not being. And the conse-
quences must include consequences to the things supposed and to
other things, in themselves and in relation to one another, to
individuals whom you select, to the many, and to the all ; these
must be drawn out both on the affirmative and on the negative
h3rpothesis,— that is, if you are to train yourself perfectly to the
intelligence of the truth.' * What you are suggesting seems to be
a tremendous process, and one of which I do not quite understand
the nature,* said Socrates ; * will you give me an example ?' 'You
must not impose such a task on a man of my years,' said Par-
menides. * Then will you, Zeno ? * * Let us rather,' said Zeno,
with a smile, ' ask Parmenides, for the undertaking is a serious
one, as he truly says ; nor could I urge him to make the attempt,
except in a select audience of persons who will understand him.'
The whole party joined in the request.
Intkoduc*
TION.
Here we have, first of all, an unmistakable attack made by the
youthful Socrates on the paradoxes of Zeno. He perfectly under-
stands their drift, and Zeno himself is supposed to admit this.
But they appear to him, as he says in the Philebus also, to be
rather truisms than paradoxes. For every one must acknowledge
the obvious fact, that the body being one has many members, and
that, in a thousand ways, the like partakes of the unlike, the many
of the one. The real difficulty begins with the relations of ideas
in themselves, whether of the one and many, or of any other ideas,
to one another and to the mind. But this was a problem which
the Eleatic philosophers had never considered; their thoughts
had not gone beyond the contradictions of matter, motion, space,
and the like.
It was no wonder that Parmenides and Zeno should hear the
novel speculations of Socrates with mixed feelings of admiration
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Imtkoduc-
TIOM.
The struggle of the Presocratic philosophy 1 3
and displeasure. He was going out of the received circle of dis- Pi^r-
putation into a region in which they could hardly follow him.
From the crude idea of Being in the abstract, he was about to
proceed to universals or general notions. There is no con-
tradiction in material things partaking of the ideas of one and
many ; neither is there any contradiction in the ideas of one and
many, like and unlike, in themselves. But the contradiction arises
when we attempt to conceive ideas in their connexion, or to
ascertain their relation to phenomena. Still he affirms the ex-
istence of such ideas ; and this is the position which is now in
turn submitted to the criticisms of Parmenides.
To appreciate truly the character of these criticisms, we must
remember the place held by(Parmenide^ in the history of Greek
philosophy. He is the founder of ideaUsm^ and also of dialectic,
or, in modem phraseology, of metaphysics and logic (Theaet.
183 £, Soph. 217 C, 241 D). Like Plato, he is struggling afler
something wider and deeper than satisfied the contemporary
Pythagoreans. And Plato With a true instinct recognizes him as
his spiritual father, whom he * revered and honoured more than
all other philosophers together.* He may be supposed to have
thought more than he said, or was able to express. And, although
he could not, as a matter of fact, have criticized the ideas of Plato
without an anachronism, the criticism is appropriately placed in
the mouth of the founder of the ideal philosophy.
There was probably a time in the life of Plato when the ethical
teaching of Socrates came into conflict with the metaphysical
theories of the earlier philosophers, and he sought to supplement
the one by the other. The older philosophers were great and
awful ; and they had the charm of antiquity. Something which
found a response in his own mind seemed to have been lost as
well as gained in the Socratic dialectic. He felt no incongruity in
the veteran Parmenides correcting the youthful Socrates. Two
points in his criticism are esf)ecially deserving of notice. First of
all, Parmenides tries him by the test of consistency. Socrates is
willing to assume ideas or principles of the just, the beautiful, the
good, and to extend them to man (cp. Phaedo 98) ; but he is re-
luctant to admit that there are general ideas of hair, mud, filth, etc.
There is an ethical universal or idea, but is there also a universal
of physics ? — of the meanest things in the world as well as of
Digitized by VjOOQIC
14 '^iih the teaching of Socrates in Plato.
Par- the greatest? Parmenides rebukes this want of consistency in
mem es. Socrates, which he attributes to his youth. As he grows older,
''^^^' philosophy will take a firmer hold of him, and then he will despise
neither great things nor small, and he will think less of the
opinions of mankind (cp. Soph. 227 A). Here is lightly touched
one of the most familiar principles of modem philosophy, that in
the meanest operations of nature, as well as in the noblest, in mud
and filth, as well as in the sun and stars, great truths are con-
tained. At the same time, we may note also the transition in the
mind of Plato, to which Aristotle alludes (Met. i. 6, 2), when, as he
says, he transferred the Socratic universal of ethics to the whole
of nature.
The other criticism of Parmenides on Socrates attributes to him
a want of practice in dialectic. He has observed this deficiency
in him when talking to Aristoteles on a previous occasion. Plato
seems to imply that there was something more in the dialectic of
Zeno than in the mere interrogation of Socrates. Here, again, he
may perhaps be describing the process which his own mind went
through when he first became more intimately acquainted, whether
at Megara or elsewhere, with the Eleatic and Megarian philo-
sophers. Still, Parmenides does not deny to Socrates the credit
of having gone beyond them in seeking to apply the paradoxes of
Zeno to ideas ; and this is the application which he himself makes
of them in the latter part of the dialogue. He then proceeds to
explain to him the sort of mental gymnastic which he should
practise. He should consider not only what would follow from a
given hypothesis, but what would follow from the denial of it, to
that which is the subject of the h3rpothesis, and to all other things.
There is no trace in the Memorabilia of Xenophon of any such
method being attributed to Socrates; nor is the dialectic here
spoken of that * favourite method ' of proceeding by regular divi-
sions, which is described in the Phaedrus and Philebus, and of
which examples are given in the Politicus and in the Sophist. It
is expressly spoken of (p. 135 E) as the method which Socrates
had heard Zeno practise in the days of his youth (cp. Soph. 217 C).
The discussion of Socrates with Parmenides is one of the most
remarkable passages in Plato. Few writers have ever been able
to anticipate ' the criticism of the morrow * on their own favourite
notions. But Plato may here be said to anticipate the judgment
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The criticism of Plato 1 5
not only of the morrow, but of all after-ages on the Platonic Ideas. Par-
For in some points he touches questions which have not yet
received their solution in modem philosophy.
The first difficulty which Parmenides raises respecting the
Platonic ideas relates to the manner in which individuals are con-
nected with them. Do they participate in the ideas, or do they
merely resemble them ? Parmenides shows that objections may
be urged against either of these modes of conceiving the connec-
tion. Things are little by partaking of littleness, great by par-
taking of greatness, and the like. But they cannot partake of a
part of greatness, for that will not make them great, etc. ; nor can
each object monopolise the whole. The only answer to this is,
that * partaking ' is a figure of speech, really corresponding to the
processes which a later logic designates by the terms ' abstrac-
tion' and 'generalization.* When we have described accurately
the methods or forms which the mind employs, we cannot further
criticize them ; at least we can only criticize them with reference
to their fitness as instruments of thought to express facts.
Socrates attempts to support his view of the ideas by the parallel
of the day, which is one and in many places ; but he is easily
driven from his position by a counter illustration of Parmenides,
who compares the idea of greatness to a sail. He truly explains
to Socrates that he has attained the conception of ideas by a pro-
cess of generalization. At the same time, he points out a difficulty,
which appears to be involved— viz. that the process of generaliza-
tion will go on to infinity. Socrates meets the supposed difficulty
by a flash of light, which is indeed the true answer * that the ideas
are in our minds only.' Neither realism is the truth, nor nomi-
nalism is the truth, but conceptualism ; and conceptualism or any
other psychological theory falls very far short of the infinite
subtlety of language and thought.
But the realism of ancient philosophy will not admit of this
answer, which is repelled by Parmenides with another truth or
half-truth of later philosophy, * Every subject or subjective must
have an object.* Here is the great though unconscious truth
(shall we say ?) or error, which underlay the early Greek philo-
sophy. * Ideas must have a real existence ; * they are not mere
forms or opinions, which may be changed arbitrarily by individuals.
But the early Greek philosopher never clearly saw that true
tnenides,
Intkoduc-
TION.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
1 6 OH his own doctrine of ideas.
Par- ideas were only universal facts, and that there might be error in
men s, universals as well as in particulars.
^*^^v.^' Socrates makes one more attempt to defend the Platonic Ideas
by representing them as paradigms,: this is again answered by
the * argumentum ad infinitum/ We may remark, in passing, that
the process which is thus described has no real existence. The
mind, after having obtained a general idea, does not really go on
to form another which includes that, and all the individuals con-
tained under it, and another and another without end. The
difficulty belongs in fact to the Megarian age of philosophy, and is
due to their illogical logic, and to the general ignorance of the
ancients respecting the part played by language in the process of
thought. No such perplexity could ever trouble a modern meta-
physician, any more than the fallacy of * calvus ' or * acervus,' or
of * Achilles and the tortoise.' These 'surds* of metaphysics
ought to occasion no more difficulty in speculation than a
perpetually recurring fraction in arithmetic.
\V It is otherwise with the objection which follows : How are we
to bridge the chasm between human truth and absolute truth,
between gods and men ? This is the difficulty of philosophy in all
ages : How can we get beyond the circle of our own ideas, or how,
remaining within them, can we have any criterion of a truth
beyond and independent of them ? Parmenides draws out this
difficulty with great clearness. According to him, there are not
only one but two chasms : the first, between individuals and the
ideas which have a common name ; the second, between the ideas
in us and the ideas absolute. The first of these two difficulties
mankind, as we may say, a little parodying the language of the
Philebus, have long agreed to treat as obsolete; the second
remains a difficulty for us as well as for the Greeks of the fourth
century before Christ, and is the stumblingblock of Kant's Kritik,
and of the Hamiltonian adaptation of Kant, as well as of the
Platonic ideas. It has been said that * you cannot criticize Revela-
tion.* * Then how do you know what is Revelation, or that there
is one at all,' is the immediate rejoinder—* You know nothing of
things in themselves.' * Then how do you know that there are
things in themselves ? ' In some respects, the difficulty pressed
harder upon the Greek than upon ourselves. For conceiving of
God more under the attribute of knowledge than we do, he was
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Latter part of dialogue an imitation of Zeno. i 7
more under the necessity of separating the divine from the human. Par-
as two spheres which had no communication with one another.
It is remarkable that Plato, speaking by the mouth of Parmenides,
does not treat even this second class of difficulties as hopeless or
insoluble. He says only that they cannot be explained without
a long and laborious demonstration : ' the teacher will require
superhuman ability, and the learner will be hard of understanding.'
But an attempt must be made to find an answer to them ; for, as
Socrates and Parmenides both admit, the denial of abstract ideas
is the destruction of the mind. We can easily imagine that among
the Greek schools of philosophy in the fourth century before Christ
a panic might arise from the denial of universals, similar to that
which arose in the last century from Hume's denial of our ideas
of cause and effect. Men do not at first recognize that thought,
like digestion, will go on much the same, notwithstanding any
theories which may be entertained respecting the nature of the
process. Parmenides attributes the difficulties in which Socrates
is involved to a want of comprehensiveness in his mode of reason-
ing ; he should consider every question on the negative as well as
the positive hypothesis, with reference to the consequences which
flow from the denial as well as from the assertion of a given
statement.
The argument which follows is the most singular in Plato. It
app>ears to be an imitation, or parody, of the Zenonian dialectic,
just as the speeches in the Phaedrus are an imitation of the style
of Lysias, or as the derivations in the Cratylus or the fallacies of
the Euthydemus are a parody of some contemporary Sophist.
The interlocutor is not supposed, as in most of the other Platonic
dialogues, to take a living part in the argument ; he is only required
to say * Yes ' and * No ' in the right places. A hint has been
already given that the paradoxes of Zeno admitted of a higher
application (pp. 129, 135 E). This hint is the thread by which Plato
connects the two parts of the dialogue.
The paradoxes of Parmenides seem trivial to us, because the
words to which they relate have become trivial ; their true nature
as abstract terms is perfectly understood by us, and we are inclined
to regard the treatment of them in Plato as a mere straw-splitting,
or legerdemain of words. Yet there was a power in them which
fascinated the Neoplatonists for centuries afterwards. Something
VOL. IV. c
mmides,
Imtroduc-
TIOM.
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Introduo
TIOH.
1 8 Modem parallels.
Par- that they found in them, or brought to them— some echo or antici-^
pation of a great truth or error, exercised a wonderful influence
over their minds. To do the Parmenides justice, we should
imagine similar awopiat raised on themes as sacred to us, as the
notions of One or Being were to an ancient Eleatic. * If God is,
what follows ? if God is not, what follows ? ' Or again : If God is
or is not the world ; or if God is or is not many, or has or has not
parts, or is or is not in the world, or in time ; or is or is not finite
or infinite. Or if the world is or is not; or has or has not a
beginning or end ; or is or is not infinite, or infinitely divisible.
Or again : if God is or is not identical with his laws ; or if man is
or is not identical with the laws of nature. We can easily see
that here are many subjects for thought, and that from these and
similar hypotheses questions of great interest might arise. And
we also remark, that the conclusions derived from either of the
two alternative propositions might be equally impossible and
contradictory.
When we ask what is the object of these paradoxes, some have
answered that they are a mere logical puzzle, while others have
seen in them an Hegelian propaedeutic of the doctrine of Ideas.
The first of these views derives support from the manner in which
Parmenides speaks of a similar method being applied to all Ideas.
Yet it is hard to suppose that Plato would have furnished so
elaborate an example, not of his own but of the Eleatic dialectic,
had he intended only to give an illustration of method. The
second view has been often overstated by those who, like Hegel
himself, have tended to confuse ancient with modem philosophy.
We need not deny that Plato, trained in the school of Cratylus
and Heracleitus, may have seen that a contradiction in terms is
sometimes the best expression of a truth higher than either (cp.
Soph. 255 ff*.). But his ideal theory is not based on antinomies.
The correlation of Ideas was the metaphysical difficulty of the age
in which he lived ; and the Megarian and Cynic philosophy was a
'reductio ad absurdum' of their isolation. To restore them to
their natural connexion and to detect the negative element in them
is the aim of Plato in the Sophist. But his view of their connexion
falls very far short of the Hegelian identity of Being and Not-
being. The Being and Not-being of Plato never merge in each
other, though he is aware that * determination is only negation/
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Connexion of the first 1 9
After criticizing the h)rpotheses of others, it may appear pre- Par^
sumptuous to add another guess to the many which have been ^*^*^^^*
already oflfered. May we say, in Platonic language, that we still Ikttoduc
seem to see vestiges of a track which has not yet been taken ? It
is quite possible that the obscurity of the Parmenides would not
have existed to a contemporary student of philosophy, and, like
the similar difficulty in the Philebus, is really due to our ignorance
of the mind of the age. There is an obscure Megarian influence
on Plato which cannot wholly be cleared up, and is not much
illustrated by the doubtful tradition of his retirement to Megara
after the death of Socrates. For Megara was within a walk of
Athens (Phaedr. 227 E), and Plato might have learned the Mega-
rian doctrines without settling there.
We may begin by remarking that the theses of Parmenides are
expressly said to follow the method of Zeno, and that the complex
dilemma, though declared to be capable of universal application,
is applied in this instance to Zeno*s familiar question of the * one
and many.' Here, then, is a double indication of the connexion
of the Parmenides with the Eristic school. The old Eleatics had
asserted the existence of Being, which they at first regarded as
finite, then as infinite, then as neither finite nor infinite, to which
some of them had given what Aristotle calls * a form,' others had
ascribed a material nature only. The tendency of their philosophy
was to deny to Being all predicates. The Megarians, who suc-
ceeded them, like the Cynics, affirmed that no predicate could be
asserted of any subject ; they also converted the idea of Being
into an abstraction of Good, perhaps with the view of preserving a
sort of neutrality or indiflference between the mind and things.
As if they had said, in the language of modern philosophy : * Being
is not only neither finite nor infinite, neither at rest nor in motion,
but neither subjective nor objective.'
This is the track along which Plato is leading us. Zeno had
attempted to prove the existence of the one by disproving the
existence of the many, and Parmenides seems to aim at proving
the existence of the subject by showing the contradictions which
follow from the assertion of any predicates. Take the simplest of
all notions, * unity ' ; you cannot even assert being or time of this
without involving a contradiction. But is the contradiction also
the final conclusion ? Probably no more than of Zeno's denial of
c 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
20 and second portions of the dialogue.
Par- the many, or of Partnenides* assault upon the Ideas ; no more
than of the earlier dialogues ' of search.' To us there seems to be
''^oSr' ^^ residuum of this long piece of dialectics. But to the mind of
Parmenides and Plato, ' Gott-betrunkene Menschen,' there still
remained the idea of * being * or * good,* which could not be con-
ceived, defined, uttered, but could not be got rid of Neither of
them would have imagined that their disputation ever touched
the Divine Being (cp. Phil, 22 C). The same difficulties about
Unity and Being are raised in the Sophist (250 if.) ; but there only
as preliminary to their final solution.
If this view is correct, the real aim of the hypotheses of Par-
menides is to criticize the earlier Eleatic philosophy from the
point of view of Zeno or the Megarians. It is the same kind of
criticism which Plato has extended to his own doctrine of Ideas.
Nor is there any want of poetical consistency in attributing to the
* father Parmenides* the last review of the Eleatic doctrines.
The latest phases of all philosophies were fathered upon the
founder of the school.
Other critics have regarded the final conclusion of the Par-
menides either as sceptical or as Heracleitean. In the first case,
they assume that Plato means to show the impossibility of any
truth. But this is not the spirit of Plato, and could not with
propriety be put into the mouth of Parmenides, who, in this very
(dialogue, is urging Socrates, not to doubt ever3rthing, but to dis-
cipline his mind with a view to the more precise attainment of
truth. The same remark applies to the second of the two
theories. Plato everywhere ridicules (perhaps unfairly) his
Heracleitean contemporaries : and if he had intended to support
an Heracleitean thesis, would hardly have chosen Parmenides, the
condemner of the * undisceming tribe who say that things both
are and are not,* to be the speaker. Nor, thirdly, can we easily
persuade ourselves with Zeller that by the 'one* he means the
Idea ; and that he is seeking to prove indirectly the unity of the
Idea in the multiplicity of phenomena.
We may now endeavour to thread the mazes of the labyrinth
which Parmenides knew so well, and trembled at the thought of
them.
The argument has two divisions : There is the h)rpothesis
that
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis 137.
i. One is.
ii. One is not.
If one is, it is nothing.
If one is not, it is everything.
But is and is not may be taken in two senses :
Either one is one,
Or, one has being,
from which opposite consequences are deduced,
i. a. If one is one, it b nothing (137 C— 142 B).
i. b. If one has being, it is all things (142 B— 157 B).
To which are appended two subordinate consequences :
i. aa. If one has being, all other things are (157 B— 159 B).
i. bb. If one is one, all other things are not (159 B— 160 B).
The same distinction is then applied to the negative hypothesis :
ii. a. If one is not one, it is all things (160 B — i^ B).
ii. b. If one has not being, it is nothing (i^ B — 164 B).
Involving two parallel consequences respecting the other or
remainder :
ii. aa. If one is not one, other things are all (164 B— 165 £).
ii. bb. If one has not being, other things are not (165 E to
the end).
21
Par-
menides.
Iktroouc*
HON.
137 *I cannot refuse,* said Parmenides, * since, as Zeno remarks,
we are alone, though I may say with Ibycus, who in his old age
fell in love, I, like the old racehorse, tremble at the prospect of
the course which I am to run, and which I know so well. But as
I must attempt this laborious game, what shall be the subject ?
Suppose I take my own hypothesis of the one.' * By all means,*
said Zeno. 'And who will answer me? Shall I propose the
youngest ? he will be the most likely to say what he thinks, and
his answers will give me time to breathe.* * I am the youngest,'
said Aristoteles, * and at your service ; proceed with your
questions.' — The result may be summed up as follows: —
Analysis.
i. a. One is not many, and therefore has no parts, and therefore
is not a whole, which is a sum of parts, and therefore has neither
beginning, middle, nor end, and is therefore unlimited, and there-
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis.
I 22 Analysis 137-140.
I Par- fore formless, being neither round nor straight, for neither round
nor straight can be defined without assuming that they have parts ; 138
and therefore is not in place, whether in another which would
encircle and touch the one at manj' points ; or in itself, because
that which is self-containing is also contained, and therefore not
one but two. This being premised, let us consider whether one
is capable either of motion or rest. For motion is either change
of substance, or motion on an axis, or from one place to another.
But the one is incapable of change of substance, which implies
that it ceases to be itself, or of motion on an axis, because there
would be parts around the axis ; and any other motion involves
change of place. But existence in place has been already shown
to be impossible ; and yet more impossible is coming into being
in place, which implies partial existence in two places at once, or
entire existence neither within nor without the same ; and how
can this be ? And more impossible still is the coming into being
either as a whole or parts of that which is neither a whole nor
parts. The one, then, is incapable of motion. But neither can 139
the one be in anything, and therefore not in the same, whether
itself or some other, and is therefore incapable of rest. Neither
is one the same with itself or any other, or other than itself or any
other. For if other than itself, then other than one, and therefore
not one ; and, if the same with other, it would be other, and other
than one. Neither can one while remaining one be other than
other ; for other, and not one, is the other than other. But if not
other by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself; and if not by
virtue of itself, not itself other, and if not itself other, not other
than anything. Neither will one be the same with itself. For
the nature of the same is not that of the one, but a thing which
becomes the same with anything does not become one ; for
example, that which becomes the same with the many becomes
many and not one. And therefore if the one is the same with
itself, the one is not one with itself; and therefore one and not '
one. And therefore one is neither other than other, nor the
same with itself. Neither will the one be like or unlike itself or
other ; for likeness is sameness of affections, and the one and the
same are different. And one having any affection which is other 140
than being one would be more than one. The one, then, cannot
have the same affection with and therefore cannot be like itself
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis 140-143. 23
or other ; nor can the one have any other affection than its own, Par-
that is, be unlike itself or any other, for this would imply that it ''****^*
was more than one. The one, then, is neither like nor unlike Amalysw.
itself or other. This being the case, neither can the one be equal
or unequal to itself or other. For equality implies sameness of
measure, as inequality implies a greater or less number of
measures. But the one, not having sameness, cannot have same-
ness of measure ; nor a greater or less number of measures, for
that would imply parts and multitude. Once more, can one be
older or younger than itself or other ? or of the same age with
itself or other? That would imply likeness and unlikeness,
141 equality and inequality. Therefore one cannot be in time, because
that which is in time is ever becoming older and younger than
itself, (for older and younger are relative terms, and he who
becomes older becomes younger,) and is also of the same age
with itself. None of which, or any other expressions of time,
whether past, future, or present, can be affirmed of one. One
neither is, has been, nor will be, nor becomes, nor has, nor will
become. And, as these are the only modes of being, one is not,
and is not one. But to that which is not, there is no attribute or
142 relative, neither name nor word nor idea nor science nor per-
ception nor opinion appertaining. One, then, is neither named,
nor uttered, nor known, nor perceived, nor imagined. But can
all this be true ? ' I think not.'
i. b. Let us, however, commence the inquiry again. We have
to work out all the consequences which follow on the assumption
that the one is. If one is, one partakes of being, which is not the
same with one; the words * being* and 'one' have different
meanings. Observe the consequence : In the one of being or the
being of one are two parts, being and one, which form one whole.
And each of the two parts is also a whole, and involves the other,
and may be further subdivided into one and being, and is there-
fore not one but two ; and thus one is never one, and in this way
143 the one, if it is, becomes many and infinite. Again, let us con-
ceive of a one which by an effort of abstraction we separate from
being: will this abstract one be one or many? You say one
only ; let us see. In the first place, the being of one is other
than one; and one and being, if different, arc so because they
Digitized by VjOOQIC
24 Analysis 143- 146.
Par- both partake of the nature of other, which is therefore neither
^"^^ ^' one nor being ; and whether we take being and other, or being
Analysis.
and one, or one and other, in any case we have two things which
separately are called either, and together both. And both are
two and either of two is severally one, and if one be added to any
of the pairs, the sum is three; and two is an even number, three
an odd ; and two units exist twice, and therefore there are twice
two ; and three units exist thrice, and therefore there are thrice
three, and taken together they give twice three and thrice two :
we have even numbers multiplied into even, and odd into even,
and even into odd numbers. But if one is, and both odd and I44
even numbers are implied in one, must not every number exist ?
And number is infinite, and therefore existence must be infinite,
for all and every number partakes of being ; therefore being has
the greatest number of parts, and every part, however great or
however small, is equally one. But can one be in many places
and yet be a whole ? If not a whole it must be divided into parts
and represented by a number corresponding to the number of the
parts. And if so, we were wrong in saying that being has the
greatest number of parts ; for being is coequal and coextensive
with one, and has no more parts than one ; and so the abstract
one broken up into parts by being is many and infinite. But the
parts are parts of a whole, and the whole is their containing limit, 145
and the one is therefore limited as well as infinite in number;
and that which is a whole has beginning, middle, and end, and
a middle is equidistant from the extremes ; and one is therefore
of a certain figure, round or straight, or a combination of the two,
and being a whole includes all the parts which are the whole, and
is therefore self-contained. But then, again, the whole is not in
the parts, whether all or some. Not in all, because, if in all, also
in one ; for, if wanting in any one, how in all ?— not in some,
because the greater would then be contained in the less. But if
not in all, nor in any, nor in some, either nowhere or in other.
And if nowhere, nothing; therefore in other. The one as a
whole, then, is in another, but regarded as a sum of parts is in
itself; and is, therefore, both in itself and in another. This being
the case, the one is at once both at rest and in motion : at rest, 146
because resting in itself; in motion, because it is ever in other.
And if there is truth in what has preceded, one is the same and
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis 146-148. 25
not the same with itself and other. For everything in relation Par^
to every other thing is either the same with it or other; or if ^'^'"^f^*
neither the same nor other, then in the relation of part to a whole Ahalysis.
or whole to a part. But one cannot be a part or whole in relation
to one, nor other than one ; and is therefore the same with one.
Yet this sameness is again contradicted by one being in another
place from itself which is in the same place ; this follows from
one being in itself and in another ; one, therefore, is other than
itself. But if anything is other than anything, will it not be other
than other ? And the not one is other than the one, and the one
than the not one ; therefore one is other than all others. But the
same and the other exclude one another, and therefore the other
can never be in the same ; nor can the other be in anything for
ever so short a time, as for that time the other will be in the
same. And the other, if never in the same, cannot be either in
the one or in the not one. And one is not other than not one,
either by reason of other or of itself; and therefore they are not
147 other than one another at all. Neither can the not one partake or
be part of one, for in that case it would be one ; nor can the not
one be number, for that also involves one. And therefore, not
being other than the one or related to the one as a whole to parts
or parts to a whole, not one b the same as one. Wherefore the
one is the same and also not the same with the others and also
with itself; and is therefore like and unlike itself and the others,
and just as different from the others as they are from the one, neither
more nor less. But if neither more nor less, equally different ;
and therefore the one and the others have the same relations.
This may be illustrated by the case of names : when you repeat
the same name twice over, you mean the same thing ; and when
you say that the other is other than the one, or the one other than
the other, this very word other (rrtpw), which is attributed to both,
148 implies sameness. One, then, as being other than others, and
other as being other than one, are alike in that they have the
relation of otherness; and likeness is similarity of relations.
And everything as being other of everything is also like every-
thing. Again, same and other, like and unlike, are opposites ;
and since in virtue of being other than the others the one is like
them, in virtue of being the same it must be unlike. Again, one,
as having the same relations, has no difference of relation, and is
Digitized by VjOOQIC
26 Analysis 148-150.
Par- therefore not unlike, and therefore like; or, as having dififerent
mentdes, relations, is different and unlike. Thus, one, as being the same
Analysis. ^^^ ^^^ jj^^ same with itself and others— for both these reasons
and for either of them— is also like and unlike itself and the
others. Again, how far can one touch itself and the others ? As
existing in others, it touches the others ; and as existing in itself,
touches only itself. But from another point of view, that which
touches another must be next in order of place ; one, therefore,
must be next in order of place to itself, and would therefore be
two, and in two places. But one cannot be two, and therefore 149
cannot be in contact with itself. Nor again can one touch the
other. Two objects are required to make one contact; three
objects make two contacts ; and all the objects in the world, if
placed in a series, would have as many contacts as there are
objects, less one. But if one only exists, and not two, there is no
contact. And the others, being other than one, have no part in
one, and therefore none in number, and therefore two has no
existence, and therefore there is no contact. For all which
reasons, one has and has not contact with itself and the others.
Once more. Is one equal and unequal to itself and the others ?
Suppose one and the others to be greater or less than each other
or equal to one another, they will be greater or less or equal by
reason of equality or greatness or smallness inhering in them in
addition to their own proper nature. Let us begin by assuming
smallness to be inherent in one: in this case the inherence is 150
either in the whole or in a part If the first, smallness is either
coextensive with the whole one, or contains the whole, and, if
coextensive with the one, is equal to the one, or if containing the
one will be greater than the one. But smallness thus performs
the function of equality or of greatness, which is impossible.
Again, if the inherence be in a part, the same contradiction
follows : smallness will be equal to the part or greater than the
part ; therefore smallness will not inhere in anything, and except
the idea of smallness there will be nothing small. Neither will
greatness ; for greatness will have a greater ; — and there will be
no small in relation to which it is great. And there will be no
great or small in objects, but greatness and smallness will be
relative only to each other; therefore the others cannot be
greater or less than the one ; also the one can neither exceed nor
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis 150-154. 27
be exceeded by the others, and they are therefore equal to one Par-
another. And this will be true also of the one in relation to '"^ '^*
itself : one will be equal to itself as well as to the others (rXXXa). Amalysm.
Yet one, being in itself, must also be about itself, containing and
151 contained, and is therefore greater and less than itself. Further,
there is nothing beside the one and the others; and as these
must be in something, they must therefore be in one another;
and as that in which a thing is is greater than the thing, the
inference is that they are both greater and less than one another,
because containing and contained in one another. Therefore the
one is equal to and greater and less than itself or other, having
also measures or parts or numbers equal to or greater or less
than itself or other.
But does one partake of time ? This must be acknowledged, if
152 the one partakes of being. For* to be* is the participation of
being in present time, * to have been * in past, * to be about to be *
in future time. And as time is ever moving forward, the one
becomes older than itself; and therefore younger than itself; and
is older and also younger when in the process of becoming it
arrives at the present ; and it is always older and younger, for at
any moment the one is, and therefore it becomes and is not older
and younger than itself but during an equal time with itself, and is
therefore contemporary with itself.
153 And what are the relations of the one to the others? Is it or
does it become older or younger than they? At any rate the
others are more than one, and one, being the least of all numbers,
must be prior in time to greater numbers. But on the other
hand, one must come into being in a manner accordant with its
own nature. Now one has parts or others, and has therefore a
beginning, middle, and end, of which the beginning is first and
the end last. And the parts come into existence first ; last of all
the whole, contemporaneously with the end, being therefore
younger, while the parts or others are older than the one. But,
again, the one comes into being in each of the parts as much as in
1 54 the whole, and must be of the same age with them. Therefore
one is at once older and younger than the parts or others, and
also contemporaneous with them, for no part can be a part which
is not one. Is this true of becoming as well as being? Thus
much may be affirmed, that the same things which are older or
Digitized by VjOOQIC
28 Analysis 154-157.
Par- younger cannot become older or younger in a greater degree than
they were at first by the addition of equal times. But, on the
Analysis.
Other hand, the one, if older than others, has come into being a
longer time than they have. And when equal time is added to a
longer and shorter, the relative difference between them is dimin-
ished. In this way that which was older becomes younger, and
that which was younger becomes older, that is to say, younger
and older than at first ; and they ever become and never have
become, for then they would be. Thus the one and others always 155
are and are becoming and not becoming younger and also older
than one another. And one, partaking of time and also partaking
of becoming older and younger, admits of all time, present, past,
and future — was, is, shall be — was becoming, is becoming, will
become. And there is science of the one, and opinion and name
and expression, as is already implied in the fact of our inquiry.
Yet once more, if one be one and many, and neither one nor
many, and also participant of time, must there not be a time at
which one as being one partakes of being, and a time when one
as not being one is deprived of being? But these two contra-
dictory states cannot be experienced by the one both together :
there must be a time of transition. And the transition is a 156
process of generation and destruction, into and from being and
not-being, the one and the others. For the generation of the one
is the destruction of the others, and the generation of the others
is the destruction of the one. There is also separation and ag-
gregation, assimilation and dissimilation, increase, diminution,
equalization, a passage from motion to rest, and from rest to
motion in the one and many. But when do all these changes take
place? When does motion become rest, or rest motion? The
answer to this question will throw a light upon all the others.
Nothing can be in motion and at rest at the same time; and
therefore the change takes place *in a moment' — which is a
strange expression, and seems to mean change in no time.
Which is true also of all the other changes, which likewise take 157
place in no time.
i. aa. But if one is, what happens to the others, which in the
first place are not one, yet may partake of one in a certain way ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis 157-160. 29
The others are other than the one because they have parts, for if Par^
they had no parts they would be simply one, and parts imply a ^*^' ^'
whole to which they belong ; otherwise each part would be a part
of many, and being itself one of them, of itself, and if a part of all,
of each one of the other parts, which is absurd. For a part, if not
a part of one, must be a part of all but this one, and if so not a part
of each one ; and if not a part of each one, not a part of any one of
many, and so not of one ; and if of none, how of all ? Therefore a
part is neither a part of many nor of all, but of an absolute and
perfect whole or one. And if the others have parts, they must
partake of the whole, and must be the whole of which they are the
158 parts. And each part, as the word ' each ' implies, is also an
absolute one. And both the whole and the parts partake of one,
for the whole of which the parts are parts is one, and each part is
one part of the whole ; and whole and parts as participating in
one are other than one, and as being other than one are many and
infinite ; and however small a fraction you separate from them is
many and not one. Yet the fact of their being parts furnishes the
others with a limit towards other parts and towards the whole ;
they are finite and also infinite : finite through participation in the
one, infinite in their own nature. And as being finite, they are
alike ; and as being infinite, they are alike ; but as being both
1 59 finite and also infinite, they are in the highest degree unlike.
And all other opposites might without difficulty be shown to unite
in them.
i. bb. Once more, leaving all this : Is there not also an opposite
series of consequences which is equally true of the others, and
may be deduced from the existence of one ? There is. One is
distinct from the others, and the others from one ; for one and the
others are all things, and there is no third existence besides them.
And the whole of one cannot be in others nor parts of it, for it is
separated from others and has no parts, and therefore the others
have no unity, nor plurality, nor duality, nor any other number,
nor any opposition or distinction, such as likeness and unlikeness,
160 some and other, generation and corruption, odd and even. For if
they had these they would partake either of one opposite, and this
would be a participation in one ; or of two opposites, and this
would be a participation in two. Thus if one exists, one is
Analysis.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
30 Analysis 160-163.
Par- all things, and likewise nothing, in relation to one and to the
others.
Analysis.
ii. a. But, again, assume the opposite hypothesis, that the one is
not, and what is the consequence? In the first place, the pro-
position, that one is not, is clearly opposed to the proposition, that
not one is not. The subject of any negative proposition implies
at once knowledge and difierence. Thus *one* in the proposition—
* The one is not,* must be something known, or the words would be
unintelligible ; and again this * one which is not ' is something dif-
ferent from other things. Moreover, this and that, some and other,
may be all attributed or related to the one which is not, and which
though non-existent may and must have plurality, if the one only
is non-existent and nothing else ; but if all is not-being there is 161
nothing which can be spoken of. Also the one which is not
differs, and is different in kind from the others, and therefore
unlike them ; and they being other than the one, are unlike the
one, which is therefore unlike them. But one, being unlike other,
must be like itself; for the unlikeness of one to itself is the
destruction of the hjrpothesis ; and one cannot be equal to the
others ; for that would suppose being in the one, and the others
would be equal to one and like one ; both which are impossible, if
one does not exist. The one which is not, then, if not equal is
unequal to the others, and inequality implies great and small, and
equality lies between great and small, and therefore the one which
is not partakes of equality. Further, the one which is not has
being ; for that which is true is, and it is true that the one is not.
And so the one which is not, if remitting aught of the being of 162
non-existence, would become existent. For not being implies the
being of not-being, and being the not-being of not-being ; or more
truly being partakes of the being of being and not of the being of
not-being, and not-being of the being of not-being and not of the
not-being of not-being. And therefore the one which is not has
being and also not-being. And the union of being and not-being
involves change or motion. But how can not-being, which is
nowhere, move or change, either from one place to another or in
the same place ? And whether it is or is not, it would cease to be
one if experiencing a change of substance. The one which is not,
then, is both in motion and at rest, is altered and unaltered, and 163
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Analysis 163-166. 31
becomes and is destroyed, and does not become and is not Par-
destroyed. '"'''^-
Analysis.
11. b. Once more, let us ask the question, If one is not, what
happens in regard to one ? The expression * is not ' Implies nega-
tion of being :— do we mean by this to say that a thing, which is
not, in a certain sense is ? or do we mean absolutely to deny being
of it ? The latter. Then the one which is not can neither be nor
become nor perish nor experience change of substance or place.
1 6 Neither can rest, or motion, or greatness, or smallness, or equality,
or unlikeness, or likeness either to itself or other, or attribute or
relation, or now or hereafter or formerly, or knowledge or opinion
or perception or name or anything else be asserted of that which
is not.
ii. aa. Once more, if one is not, what becomes of the others ? If
we speak of them they must be, and their very name implies
difference, and difference implies relation, not to the one, which is
not, but to one another. And they are others of each other not as
units but as infinities, the least of which is also infinity, and
capable of infinitesimal division. And they will have no unity or
number, but only a semblance of unity and number ; and the least
165 of them will appear large and manifold in comparison with the
infinitesimal fractions into which it may be divided. Further,
each particle will have the appearance of being equal with the
fractions. For in passing from the greater to the less it must
reach an intermediate point, which is equality. Moreover, each
particle although having a limit in relation to itself and to other
particles, yet it has neither beginning, middle, nor end ; for there
is always a beginning before the beginning, and a middle within
the middle, and an end beyond the end, because the infinitesimal
division is never arrested by the one. Thus all being is one at a
distance, and broken up when near, and like at a distance and
unlike when near; and also the particles which compose being
seem to be like and unlike, in rest and motion, in generation
and corruption, in contact and separation, if one is not.
ii. bb. Once more, let us inquire. If the one is not, and the others
of the one are, what follows ? In the first place, the others will
166 not be the one, nor the many, for in that case the one would be
Digitized by VjOOQIC
32
Par-
menides.
Analysis.
Analysis i66.
contained in them ; neither will they appear to be one or many ;
because they have no communion or participation in that which is
not, nor semblance of that which is not. If one is not, the others
neither are, nor appear to be one or many, like or unlike, in con-
tact or separation. In short, if one is not, nothing is.
The result of all which is, that whether one is or is not, one and
the others, in relation to themselves and to one another, are and
are not, and appear to be and appear not to be, in all manner of
ways.
Intioduc-
TION.
I. On the first hypothesis we may remark ; first. That one is
one is an identical proposition, from w^hich we might expect that
no further consequences could be deduced. The train of con-
sequences which follows, is inferred by altering the predicate into
* not many.' Yet, perhaps, if a strict Eristic had been present, oloy
av^p tl Koi vvv irapTjp, he might have affirmed that the not many pre-
sented a difierent aspect of the conception from the one, and was
therefore not identical with it. Such a subtlety would be very
much in character with the Zenonian dialectic. Secondly, We
may note, that the conclusion is really involved in the premises.
For one is conceived as one, in a sense which excludes all pre-
dicates. When the meaning of one has been reduced to a point,
there is no use in saying that it has neither parts nor magnitude.
Thirdly, The conception of the same is, first of all, identified with
the one ; and then by a further analysis distinguished from, and
even opposed to it. Fourthly, We may detect notions, which have
reappeared in modern philosophy, e.g. the bare abstraction of
undefined unity, answering to the Hegelian * Sejm,' or the identity
of contradictions * that which is older is also younger,' etc.,cp. 152,
or the Kantian conception of an a priori synthetical proposition
* one is.'
II. In the first series of propositions the word * is* is really the
copula^ in the second, the verb of existence. As in the first
series, the negative consequence followed from one being affirmed
to be equivalent to the not many ; so here the affirmative conse-
quence is deduced from one being equivalent to the many.
In the former case, nothing could be predicated of the one, but
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Criticism of the argument. 33
now ever3rthing— multitude, relation, place, time, transition. One Par-
is regarded in all the aspects of one, and with a reference to all '»^'<^^-
the consequences which flow, either from the combination or the '"^qm^*^
separation of them. The notion of transition involves the singular
extra-temporal conception of * suddenness.' This idea of * sudden-
ness' is based upon the contradiction which is involved in
supposing that anything can be in two places at once. It is a mere
fiction; and we may observe that similar antinomies have led
modem philosophers to deny the reality of time and space. It is
not the infinitesimal of time, but the negative of time. By the
help of this invention the conception of change, which sorely
exercised the minds of early thinkers, seems to be, but is not
really at all explained. The difficulty arises out of the imper-
fection of language, and should therefore be no longer regarded
as a difficulty at all. The only way of meeting it, if it exists, is
to acknowledge that this rather puzzling double conception is
necessary to the expression of the phenomena of motion or
change, and that this and similar double notions, instead of being
anomalies, are among the higher and more potent instruments of
human thought.
The processes by which Parmenides obtains his remarkable
results may be summed up as follows : (i) Compound or correla-
tive ideas which involve each other, such as, being and not-being,
one and many, are conceived sometimes in a state of composi-
tion, and sometimes of division : (2) The division or distinction is
sometimes heightened into total opposition, e. g. between one and
same, one and other : or (3) The idea, which has been already
divided, is regarded, like a number, as capable of further infinite
subdivision : (4) The argument of\en proceeds * a dicto secundum
quid ad dictum simpliciter ' and conversely : (5) The analogy of
opposites is misused by him ; he argues indiscriminately some-
times from what is like, sometimes from what is unlike in them :
(6) The idea of being or not-being is identified with existence or
non-existence in place or time : (7) The same ideas are regarded
sometimes as in process of transition, sometimes as alternatives or
opposites : (8) There are no degrees or kinds of sameness, like-
ness, difference, nor any adequate conception of motion or change :
(9) One, being, time, like space in Zeno's puzzle of Achilles and
the tortoise, are regarded sometimes as continuous and sometimes
VOL. IV. D
Digitized by VjOOQIC
34 Explanation.
Par- as discrete : (lo) In some parts of the argument the abstraction is
^f^^^f^* so rarefied as to become not only fallacious, but almost unintelli-
'"woS."^ gible, e. g. in the contradiction which is elicited out of the relative
terms older and younger at p. 152 : (11) The relation between two
terms is regarded under contradictory aspects, as for example
when the existence of the one and the non-existence of the one are
equally assumed to involve the existence of the many : (12) Words
are used through long chains of argument, sometimes loosely,
sometimes with the precision of numbers or of geometrical figures.
The argument is a very curious piece of work, unique in litera-
ture. It seems to be an exposition or rather a * reductio ad ab-
surdum * of the Megarian philosophy, but we are too imperfectly
acquainted with this last to speak with confidence about it. It
would be safer to say that it is an indication of the sceptical, hyper-
logical fancies which prevailed among the contemporaries of
Socrates. It throws an indistinct light upon Aristotle, and makes
us aware of the debt which the world owes to him or his school.
It also bears a resemblance to some modem speculations, in which
an attempt is made to narrow language in such a manner that
number and figure may be made a calculus of thought. It exag-
gerates one side of logic and forgets the rest It has the appear-
ance of a mathematical process ; the inventor of it delights, as
mathematicians do, in eliciting or discovering an unexpected
result It also helps to guard us against some fallacies by
showing the consequences which flow from them.
In the Parmenides we seem to breathe the spirit of the Megarian
philosophy, though we cannot compare the two in detail. But
Plato also goes beyond his Megarian contemporaries; he has
split their straws over again, and admitted more than they would
have desired. He is indulging the analytical tendencies of his age,
which can divide but not combine. And he does not stop to
inquire whether the distinctions which he makes are shadowy
and fallacious, but ' whither the argument blows * he follows.
III. The negative series of propositions contains the first con-
ception of the negation of a negation. Two minus signs in
arithmetic or algebra make a plus. Two negatives destroy each
other. This abstruse notion is the foundation of the Hegelian logic.
The mind must not only admit that determination is negation, but
must get through negation into affirmation. Whether this process
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Connexion of the first and second parts, 35
is real, or in any way an assistance to thought, or, like some other Par-
logical forms, a mere figure of speech transferred from the sphere '*
of mathematics, may be doubted. That Plato and the most subtle '"^."*^
philosopher of the nineteenth century should have lighted upon
the same notion, is a singular coincidence of ancient and modem
thought.
IV. The one and the many or others are reduced to their
strictest arithmetical meaning. That one is three or three one, is
a proposition which has, perhaps, given rise to more controversy
in the world than any other. But no one has ever meant to say
that three and one are to be taken in the same sense. Whereas
the one and many of the Parmenides have precisely the same
meaning; there is no notion of one personality or substance
having many attributes or qualities. The truth seems to be rather
the opposite of that which Socrates implies at p. 129 : There is no
contradiction in the concrete, but in the abstract ; and the more
abstract the idea, the more palpable will be the contradiction. For
just as nothing can persuade us that the number one is the number
three, so neither can we be persuaded that any abstract idea is
identical with its opposite, although they may both inhere together
in some external object, or some more comprehensive conception.
Ideas, persons, things may be one in one sense and many m
another, and may have various degrees of unity and plurality.
But in whatever sense and in whatever degree they are one they
cease to be many; and in whatever degree or sense they are many
they cease to be one.
Two points remain to be considered : ist, the connexion between ^
the first and second parts of the dialogue ; 2ndly, the relation of
the Parmenides to the other dialogues.
I. In both divisions of the dialogue the principal speaker is the
same, and the method pursued by him is also the same, being a
criticism on received opinions : first, on the doctrine of Ideas ;
secondly, of Being. From the Platonic Ideas we naturally proceed
to the Eleatic One or Being which is the foundation of them. They
are the same philosophy in two forms, and the simpler form is the
truer and deeper. For the Platonic Ideas are mere numerical
differences, and the moment we attempt to distinguish between
them, their transcendental character is lost ; ideas of justice,
D 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
36 The relation of the Pannenides to the other dialogues.
Par- temperance, and good, are really distinguishable only with refer-
menides.
Intbodcc*
TION.
ence to their application in the world. If we once ask how they
are related to individuals or to the ideas of the divine mind, they
are again merged in the aboriginal notion of Being. No one can
answer the questions which Parmenides asks of Socrates. And
yet these questions are asked with the express acknowledgment
that the denial of ideas will be the destruction of the human mind.
The true answer to the difficulty here thrown out is the establish-
ment of a rational psychology ; and this is a work which is com-
menced in the Sophist. Plato, in urging the difficulty of his own
doctrine of Ideas, is far from denying that some doctrine of Ideas
is necessary, and for this he is paving the way.
In a similar spirit he criticizes the Eleatic doctrine of Being, not
intending to deny Ontology, but showing that the old Eleatic notion,
and the very name ' Being,' is unable to maintain itself against the
subtleties of the Megarians. He did not mean to say that Being
or Substance had no existence, but he is preparing for the develop-
ment of his later view, that ideas were capable of relation. The
fact that contradictory consequences follow from the existence or
non-existence of one or many, does not prove that they have or
have not existence, but rather that some diflferent mode of con-
ceiving them is required. Parmenides may still have thought that
* Being was,* just as Kant would have asserted the existence of
* things in themselves,' while denying the transcendental use of
the Categories.
Several lesser links also connect the first and second parts of
the dialogue : (i) The thesis is the same as that which Zeno has
been already discussing : (2) Parmenides has intimated in the first
part, that the method of Zeno should, as Socrates desired, be
extended to Ideas : (3) The difficulty of participating in greatness,
smallness, equality is urged against the Ideas as well as against
the One.
II. The Parmenides is not only a criticism of the Eleatic notion
of Being, but also of the methods of reasoning then in existence,
and in this point of view, as well as in the other, may be regarded
as an introduction to the Sophist. Long ago, in the Euthydemus,
the vulgar application of the ' both and neither ' Eristic had been
subjected to a similar criticism, which there takes the form of
banter and irony, here of illustration.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The Parmenides a criticism of the Idec^ and the One, 37
The attack upon the Ideas is resumed in the Philebus, and is Par-
followed by a return to a more rational philosophy. The perplexity
of the One and Many is there confined to the region of Ideas, '"^JT^"
and replaced by a theory of classification ; the Good arranged
in classes is also contrasted with the barren abstraction of the
Megarians. The war is carried on against the Eristics in all the
later dialogues, sometimes with a playful irony, at other times with
a sort of contempt. But there is no lengthened refutation of them.
The Parmenides belongs to that stage of the dialogues of Plato
in which he is partially under their influence, using them as a sort
of * critics or diviners * of the truth of his own, and of the Eleatic
theories. In the Theaetetus a similar negative dialectic is employed
in the attempt to define science, which after every effort remains
undefined still. The same question is revived from the objective
side in the Sophist : Being and Not-being are no longer exhibited
in opposition, but are now reconciled ; and the true nature of Not-
being is discovered and made the basis of the correlation of ideas.
Some links are probably missing which might have been supplied
if we had trustworthy accounts of Plato's oral teaching.
To sum up : the Parmenides of Plato is a critique, first, of the Pla-
tonic Ideas, and secondly, of the Eleatic doctrine of Being. Neither
are absolutely denied. But certain difficulties and consequences
are shown in the assumption of either, which prove that the
Platonic as well as the Eleatic doctrine must be remodelled. The
negation and contradiction which are involved in the conception of
the One and Many are preliminary to their final adjustment. The
Platonic Ideas are tested by the interrogative method of Socrates ;
the Eleatic One or Being is tried by the severer and perhaps im-
possible method of hypothetical consequences, negative and
affirmative. In the latter we have an example of the Zenonian
or Megarian dialectic, which proceeded, not *by assailing premises,
but conclusions'; this is worked out and improved by Plato.
When primary abstractions are used in every conceivable sense,
any or every conclusion may be deduced from them. The words
*one,' 'other,' 'being,' Mike,' * same,' 'whole,' and their opposites,
have slightly different meanings, as they are applied to objects of
thought or objects of sense—to number, time, place, and to the
higher ideas of the reason ;--and out of their different meanings
this * feast ' of contradictions ' has been provided.'
Digitized by VjOOQIC
38 Preparatio philosophica.
Par- The Parmenides of Plato belongs to a stage of philosophy
menidts.
INTRODUC*
TIOM.
which has passed away. At first we read it with a purely anti-
quarian or historical interest ; and with difficulty throw ourselves
back into a state of the human mind in which Unity and Being
occupied the attention of philosophers. We admire the precision
of the language, in which, as in some curious puzzle, each word
is exactly fitted into every other, and long trains of argument are
carried out with a sort of geometrical accuracy. We doubt
whether any abstract notion could stand the searching cross-
examination of Parmenides ; and may at last perhaps arrive at
the conclusion that Plato has been using an imaginary method to
work out an unmeaning conclusion. But the truth is, that he is
carrying on a process which is not either useless or unnecessary
in any age of philosophy. We fail to understand him, because
we do not realize that the questions which he is discussing could
have had any value or importance. We suppose them to be like
the speculations of some of the Schoolmen, which end in nothing.
But in truth he is trying to get rid of the stumblingblocks of
thought which beset his contemporaries. Seeing that the Mega-
rians and Cynics were making knowledge impossible, he takes
their * catch-words * and analyzes them from every conceivable
point of view. He is criticizing the simplest and most general of
our ideas, in which, as they are the most comprehensive, the
danger of error is the most serious ; for, if they remain un-
examined, as in a mathematical demonstration, all that flows from
them is affected, and the error pervades knowledge far and wide.
In the beginning of philosophy this correction of human ideas was
even more necessary than in our own times, because they were
more bound up with words ; and words when once presented to
the mind exercised a greater power over thought. There is a
natural realism which says, * Can there be a word devoid of
meaning, or an idea which is an idea of nothing?' In modern
times mankind have often given too great importance to a word
or idea. The philosophy of the ancients was still more in slavery
to them, because they had not the experience of error, which
would have placed them above the illusion.
The method of the Parmenides may be compared with the
process of purgation, which Bacon sought to introduce into philo-
sophy. Plato is warning us against two sorts of 'Idols of the
Digitized by VjOOQIC
'Idols of the Den! 39
Den ' : first, his own Ideas, which he himself having created is -Air-
unable to connect in any way with the external world ; secondly, '"'''"«^«
against two idols in particular, 'Unity' and 'Being,' which had ''*^1J^"*^'
grown up in the pre-Socratic philosophy, and were still standing
in the way of all progress and development of thought. He does
not say with Bacon, * Let us make truth by experiment,' or * From
these vague and inexact notions* let us turn to facts.' The time
has not yet arrived for a purely inductive philosophy. The
instruments of thought must first be forged, that they may be
used hereafter by modern inquirers. How, while mankind were
disputing about universals, could they classify phenomena ? How
could they investigate causes, when they had not as yet learned
to distinguish between a cause and an end? How could they
make any progress in the sciences without first arranging them ?
These are the deficiencies which Plato is seeking to supply in an
age when knowledge was a shadow of a name only. In the
earlier dialogues the Socratic conception of universals is illus-
trated by his genius ; in the Phaedrus the nature of division is
explained ; in the Republic the law of contradiction and the unity
of knowledge are asserted; in the later dialogues he is constantly
engaged both with the theory and practice of classification.
These were the *new weapons,' as he terms them in the Phi-
lebus, which he was preparing for the use of some who, in after
ages, would be found ready enough to disown their obligations
to the great master, or rather, perhaps, would be incapable of
understanding them.
Numberless fallacies, as we are often truly told, have originated
in a confiision of the 'copula,' and the *verb of existence.' Would
not the distinction which Plato by the mouth of Parmenides
makes between * One is one ' and * One has being ' have saved us
from this and many similar confiisions? We see again that a
long period in the history of philosophy was a barren tract, not
uncultivated, but unfruitful, because there was no inquiry into the
relation of language and thought, and the metaphysical imagina-
tion was incapable of supplying the missing link between words
and things. The famous dispute between Nominalists and Realists
would never have been heard of, if, instead of transferring the
Platonic Ideas into a crude Latin phraseology, the spirit of Plato
had been truly understood and appreciated. Upon the term
Digitized by VjOOQIC
40 Metaphysics required to place us above metaphysics.
Par- substance at least two celebrated theological controversies appear
nuntdes, ^^ hinge, which would not have existed, or at least not in their
'*'tJon."^ present form, if we had * interrogated * the word substance, as
Plato has the notions of Unity and Being. These weeds of philo-
sophy have struck their roots deep into the soil, and are always
tending to reappear, sometimes in new-fangled forms; while
similar words, such as development, evolution, law, and the like,
are constantly put in the place of facts, even by writers who
profess to base truth entirely upon fact. In an unmetaphysical
age there is probably more metaphysics in the common sense
(i. e. more a priori assumption) than in any other, because there
is more complete unconsciousness that we are resting on our
own ideas, while we please ourselves with the conviction that we
are resting on facts. We do not consider how much metaphysics
are required to place us above metaphysics, or how difficult it is
to prevent the forms of expression which are ready made for our
use from outrunning actual observation and experiment.
In the last century the educated world were astonished to find
that the whole fabric of their ideas was falling to pieces, because
Hume amused himself by analyzing the word * cause * into uniform
sequence. Then arose a philosophy which, equally regardless of
the history of the mind, sought to save mankind from scepticism
by assigning to our notions of * cause and effect,* * substance and
accident,' * whole and part,* a necessary place in human thought.
Without them we could have no experience, and therefore they
were supposed to be prior to experience— to be incrusted on the
* I * ; although in the phraseology of Kant there could be no
transcendental use of them, or, in other words, they were only
applicable within the range of our knowledge. But into the
origin of these ideas, which he obtains partly by an analysis of
the proposition, partly by development of the *ego,* he never
inquires— they seem to him to have a necessary existence ; nor
does he attempt to analyse the various senses in which the word
* cause ' or * substance * may be employed.
The philosophy of Berkeley could never have had any meaning,
even to himself, if he had first analyzed from every point of view
the conception of * matter.' This poor forgotten word (which was
* a very good word ' to describe the simplest generalization of
external objects) is now superseded in the vocabulary of physical
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The language of philosophy full of imperfection. 41
philosophers by * force/ which seems to be accepted without any Par-
rigid examination of its meaning, as if the- general idea of * force * ^'^^tdes,
in our minds furnished an explanation of the infinite variety of '*^q2"^'
forces which exist in the universe. A similar ambiguity occurs
in the use of the favourite word Maw,' which is sometimes
regarded as a mere abstraction, and then elevated into a real
power or entity, almost taking the place of God. Theology,
again, is full of undefined terms which have distracted the human
mind for ages. Mankind have reasoned from them, but not to
them ; they have drawn out the conclusions without proving the
premises; they have asserted the premises without examining
the terms. The passions of religious parties have been roused to
the utmost about words of which they could have given no ex-
planation, and which had really no distinct meaning. One sort
of them, faith, grace, justification, have been the symbols of one
class of disputes; as the words substance, nature, person, of
another, revelation, inspiration, and the like, of a third. All of
them have been the subject of endless reasonings and inferences ;
but a spell has hung over the minds of theologians or philo-
sophers which has prevented them from examining the words
themselves. Either the effort to rise above and beyond their own
first ideas was too great for them, or there might, perhaps, have
seemed to be an irreverence in doing so. About the Divine
Being Himself, in whom all true theological ideas live and move,
men have spoken and reasoned much, and have fancied that they
instinctively know Him. But they hardly suspect that under the
name of God even Christians have included two characters or
natures as much opposed as the good and evil principle of the
Persians.
To have the true use of words we must compare them with
things ; in using them we acknowledge that they seldom give a
perfect representation of our meaning. In like manner when
we interrogate our ideas we find that we are not using them
always in the sense which we supposed. And Plato, while
he criticizes the inconsistency of his own doctrine of universals
and draws out the endless consequences which flow from
the assertion either that * Being is* or that 'Being is not,' by
no means intends to deny the existence of universals or the unity
under which they are comprehended. There is nothing further
Digitized by VjOOQIC
42 But we cannot invent a new one.
Par- from his thoughts than scepticism (cp. 135 B, C). But before
nunidts.
InTKODUC'
TIOM. '
proceeding he must examine the foundations which he and others
have been laying ; there is nothing true which is not from some
point of view untrue, nothing absolute which is not also relative
(cp. Rep. vi. 507).
And so» in modem times, because we are called upon to analyze
our ideas and to come to a distinct understanding about the
meaning of words ; because we know that the powers of language
are very unequal to the subtlety of nature or of mmd, we do not
therefore renounce the use of them ; but we replace them in their
old connexion, having first tested their meaning and quality, and
having corrected the error which is involved in them ; or rather
always remembering to make allowance for the adulteration or
alloy which they contain. We cannot call a new metaphysical
world into existence any more than we can frame a new universal
language; in thought, as in speech, we are dependent on the
past. We know that the words * cause ' and * effect ' are very far
from representing to us the continuity or the complexity of nature
or the different modes or degrees in which phenomena are con-
nected. Yet we accept them as the best expression which we
have of the correlation of forces or objects. We see that the term
Maw' is a mere abstraction, under which laws of matter and of
mind, the law of nature and the law of the land are included, and
some of these uses of the word are confusing, because they
introduce into one sphere of thought associations which belong to
another ; for example, order or sequence is apt to be confounded
with external compulsion and the internal workings of the mind
with their material antecedents. Yet none of them can be dis-
pensed with ; we can only be on our guard against the error or
confusion which arises out of them. Thus in the use of the word
'substance' we are far from supposing that there is any
mysterious substratum apart from the objects which we see, and
we acknowledge that the negative notion is very likely to become
a positive one. Still we retain the word as a convenient general-
ization, though not without a double sense, substance, and essence,
derived from the two-fold translation of the Greek ovo-i'o.
So the human mind makes the reflection that God is not a
person like ourselves— is not a cause like the material causes in
nature, nor even an intelligent cause like a human agent— nor an
Digitized by VjOOQIC
First principles unshaken by criticism. 43
individual, for He is universal ; and that every possible conception Par-
which we can form of Him is limited by the human faculties. ^*^**^^'
We cannot by any effort of thought or exertion of faith be in and '''^^*^'
out of our own minds at the same instant. How can we conceive
Him under the forms of time and space, who is out of time and
space? How get rid of such forms and see Him as He is?
How can we imagine His relation to the world or to our-
selves? Innumerable contradictions follow from either of the
two alternatives, that God is or that He is not. Yet we are far
from saying that we know nothing of Him, because all that we
know is subject to the conditions of human thought. To the old
belief in Him we return, but with corrections. He is a person,
but not like ourselves ; a mind, but not a human mind ; a cause,
but not a material cause, nor yet a maker or artificer. The words
which we use are imperfect expressions of His true nature; but
we do not therefore lose faith in what is best and highest in
ourselves and in the world.
*A little philosophy takes us away from God; a great deal
brings us back to Him.* When we begin to reflect, our first
thoughts respecting Him and ourselves are apt to b6 sceptical.
For we can analyze our religious as well as our other ideas ; we
can trace their history ; we can criticize their perversion ; we see
that they are relative to the human mind and to one another.
But when we have carried our criticism to the furthest point, they
still remain, a necessity of our moral nature, better known and
. understood by us, and less liable to be shaken, because we are
more aware of their necessary imperfection. They come to us
with ' better opinion, better confirmation,* not merely as the in-
spirations either of ourselves or of another, but deeply rooted in
history and in the human mind.
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Digitized by VjOOQIC
t
\ PARMENIDES.
yf
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE,
Cbphalus. Socrates.
Adeimantus. Zeno.
Glaucon. Parmenides.
Antiphon. Aristoteles.
Pythodorus.
Ceph&lns rehearses a dialogue which is supposed to have been narrated in his
presence by Antiphon, the half-brother of Adeimantus and Glaucon, to
certain Clazomenians.
steph. We had come from our home at Clazomenae to Athens, Far-
126 and met Adeimantus and Glaucon in the Agora. Welcome, ^^*^'^'
Cephalus, said Adeimantus, taking me by the hand ; is there Cefhalus.
an3rthing which we can do for you in Athens ? tus.
Yes ; that is why I am here ; I wish to ask a favour of you. Preface.
What may that be ? he said.
I want you to tell me the name of your half-brother, which The re-
I have forgotten ; he was a mere child when I last came hither T*^i?L
from Clazomenae, but that was a long time ago ; his father's menians.
name, if I remember rightly, was P3ailampes ?
Yes, he said, and the name of our brother, Antiphon ; but
why do you ask ?
Let me introduce some countr3rmen of mine, I said ; they
are lovers of philosophy, and have heard that Antiphon was
intimate with a certain Pjrthodorus, a friend of Zeno, and
remembers a conversation which took place between
Socrates, Zeno, and Parmenides many years ago, Pythodorus
having often recited it to him.
Quite true.
And could we hear it ? I asked.
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46
' Reductio adimpossibile' of the 'plurality of being!
Par-
menidts,
Cbphalus,
Adbiman-
TUB,
Antiphon,
Socrates,
Zkno.
Descrip-
tive.
The con-
tention of
Zeno is,
that being
cannot be
many, be-
cause, if it
were, it
would be
like and
Nothing easier, he replied ; when he was a youth he made
a careful study of the piece ; at present his thoughts run in
another direction; like his grandfather Antiphon he is devoted
to horses. But, if that is what you want, let us go and look
for him ; he dwells at Melita, which is quite near, and he has
only just left us to go home.
Accordingly we went to look for him ; he was at home, and 127
in the act of giving a bridle to a smith to be fitted. When he
had done with the smith, his brothers told him the purpose of
our visit ; and he saluted me as an acquaintance whom he re-
membered from my former visit, and we asked him to repeat
the dialogue. At first he was not very willing, and complained
of the trouble, but at length he consented. He told us that
Pjrthodorus had described to him the appearance of Par-
menides and Zeno ; they came to Athens, as he said, at the
great Panathenaea ; the former was, at the time of his visit,
about 65 years old, very white with age, but well favoured^
Zeno was nearly 40 years of age, tall and fair to look upon ; in
the days of his youth he was reported to have been beloved
by Parmenides. He said that they lodged with Pjrthodorus
in the Ceramicus, outside the wall, whither Socrates, then a
very young man, came to see them, and many others with
him ; they wanted to hear the writings of Zeno, which had
been brought to Athens for the first time on the occasion of
their visit. These Zeno himself read to them in the absence
of Parmenides, and had very nearly finished when Pytho-
dorus entered, and with him Parmenides and Aristoteles
who was afterwards one of the Thirty, and heard the little
that remained of the dialogue. Pythodorus had heard Zeno
repeat them before.
When the recitation was completed, Socrates requested
that the first thesis of the first argument might be read over
again, and this having been done, he said : What is your
meaning, Zeno ? Do you maintain that if being is many, it
must be both like and unlike, and that this is impossible, for
neither can the like be unlike, nor the unlike like — is that
your position ?
Just so, said Zeno.
And if the unlike cannot be like, or the like unlike, then
according to you, being could not be many; for this would
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Zeno the 'alter ego' of Parmenides. 47
involve an impossibility. In all that you say have you any Par-
other purpose except to disprove the being of the many ? and
is not each division of your treatise intended to furnish a ^^"*'
separate proof of this, there being in all as many proofs of
the not-being of the many as you have composed arguments ? the same
Is that your meaning, or have I misunderstood you ? *^™«' ^**^*^^
128 No, said Zeno ; you have correctly understood my general ^ibie.
purpose.
I see, Parmenides, said Socrates, that Zeno would like to 'The many
be not only one with you in friendship but your second self ^y"^. **
in his writings too ; he puts what you say in another way, other way
and would fain make believe that he is telling us some- ^^^^^*'
thing which is new. For you, in your poems, say The thesis of
All is one, and of this you adduce excellent proofs ; and he ^7* Aif is
on the other hand says There is no many ; and on behalf one."
of this he offers overwhelming evidence. You affirm unity,
he denies plurality. And so you deceive the world into
believing that you are saying different things when really
you are saying much the same. This is a strain of art
beyond the reach of most of us.
Yes, Socrates, said Zeno. But although you are as keen A mis-
as a Spartan hound in pursuing the track, you do not fully "^'^j'^^
apprehend the true motive of the composition, which is not
really such an artificial work as you imagine ; for what you
speak of was an accident ; there was no pretence of a great
purpose ; nor any serious intention of deceiving the world.
The truth is, that these writings of mine were meant to
protect the arguments of Parmenides against those who
make fun of him and seek to show the many ridiculous and
contradictory results which they suppose to follow from the
affirmation of the one. My answer is addressed to the
partisans of the many, whose attack I return with interest
by retorting upon them that their h3rpothesis of the being of
many, if carried out, appears to be still more ridiculous than
the hypothesis of the being of one. Zeal for my master
led me to write the book in the days of my youth, but some
one stole the copy ; and therefore I had no choice whether
it should be published or not; the motive, however, of
writing, was not the ambition of an elder man, but the
pugnacity of a young one. This you do not seem to see.
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48
The perplexity in visible objects
Par-
mcnitUs,
Socrates,
Zeno.
Differences
between
absolute
ideas or
natures,
and the
things
which
partake of
them.
Socrates; though in other respects, as I was saying, your
notion is a very just one.
I understand, said Socrates, and quite accept your account.
But tell me, Zeno, do you not further think that there is an
idea of likeness in itself, and another idea of unlikeness, 129
which is the opposite of likeness, and that in these two, you
and I and all other things to which we apply the term many,
participate — things which participate in likeness become in
that degree and manner like ; and so far as they participate
in unlikeness become in that degree unlike, or both like and
unlike in the degree in which they participate in both?
And may not all things partake of both opposites, and be
both like and unlike, by reason of this participation ? — Where
is the wonder ? Now if a person could prove the absolute
like to become unlike, or the absolute unlike to become like,
that, in my opinion, would indeed be a wonder ; but there
is nothing extraordinary, Zeno, in showing that the things
which only partake of likeness and unlikeness experience
both. Nor, again, if a person were to show that all is one
by partaking of one, and at the same time many by partaking
of many, would that be very astonishing. But if he were to
show me that the absolute one was many, or the absolute
many one, I should be truly amazed. And so of all the
rest: I should be surprised to hear that the natures or
ideas themselves had these opposite qualities; but not if
a person wanted to prove of me that I was many and also
one. When he wanted to show that I was many he would
say that I have a right and a left side, and a front and
a back, and an upper and a lower half, for I cannot deny
that I partake of multitude ; when, on the other hand, he
wants to prove that I am one, he will say, that we who are
here assembled are seven, and that I am one and partake of
the one. In both instances he proves his case. So again, if a
person shows that such things as wood, stones, and the like,
being many are also one, we admit that he shows the coexist-
ence of the one and many, but he does not show that the
many are one or the one many; he is uttering not a paradox
but a truism. If however, as I just now suggested, some
one were to abstract simple notions of like, unlike, one,
many, rest, motion, and similar ideas, and then to show that
Digitized by VjOOQIC
does not extend to the ideas, 49
these admit of admixture and separation in themselves, I Par-
should be very much astonished. This part of the argument ^'*^****^^'
appears to be treated by you, Zeno, in a very spirited manner ; ^^^^
but, as I was saying, I should be far more amazed if any one
130 found in the ideas themselves which are apprehended by
reason, the same puzzle and entanglement which you have
shown to exist in visible objects.
While Socrates was speaking, Pythodorus thought that
Parmenides and Zeno were not altogether pleased at the
successive steps of the argument ; but still they gave the
closest attention, and often looked at one another, and
smiled as if in admiration of him. When he had finished,
Parmenides expressed their feelings in the following
words : —
Socrates, he said, I admire the bent of your mind towards
philosophy; tell me now, was this your own distinction
between ideas in themselves and the things which partake
of them ? and do you think that there is an idea of likeness
apart from the likeness which we possess, and of the one
and many, and of the other things which Zeno mentioned ?
I think that there are such ideas, said Socrates.
Parmenides proceeded : And would you also make absolute Parmenides
ideas of the just and the beautiful and the good, and of all ^^^ates
that class ? whether he
Yes, he said, I should. ^^^^
And would you make an idea of man apart from us and things,
from all other human creatures, or of fire and water ?
I am often undecided, Parmenides, as to whether I ought
to include them or not.
And would you feel equally undecided, Socrates, about
things of which the mention may provoke a smile ? — I mean
such things as hair, mud, dirt, or anything else which is vile
and paltry ; would you suppose that each of these has an
idea distinct from the actual objects with which we come into
contact, or not ?
Certainly not, said Socrates ; visible things like these are Socrates
such as they appear to us, and I am afraid that there would ^^j^^is
be an absurdity in assuming any idea of them, although I idealism to
sometimes get disturbed, and begin to think that there is ^^'*^'^'
nothing without an idea ; but then again, when I have taken
VOL. IV. E
Digitized by VjOOQIC
50
Relation of the ideas to phenomena.
Par-
mtnides,
socbatbs,
Parmenidbs.
and is re-
buked by
Parmenides
for exhibit-
ing an un-
pbilosophic
temper.
The whole
idea cannot
exist in
different
objects at
the same
time ;
up this position, I run away, because I am afraid that I may
fall into a bottomless pit of nonsense, and perish ; and so I
return to the ideas of which I was just now speaking, and
occupy myself with them.
Yes, Socrates, said Parmenides ; that is because you are
still young ; the time will come, if I am not mistaken, when
philosophy will have a firmer grasp of you, and then you
will not despise even the meanest things ; at your age, you
are too much disposed to regard the opinions of men. But
I should like To know whether you mean that there are
certain ideas of which all other things partake, and from
which they derive their names; that similars, for example, 13'
become similar, because they partake of similarity; and
great things become great, because they partake of great-
ness ; and that just and beautiful things become just and
beautiful, because they partake of justice and beauty ?
Yes, certainly, said Socrates, that is my meaning.
Then each individual partakes either of the whole of
the idea or else of a part of the idea ? Can there be any
other mode of participation ?
There cannot be, he said.
Then do you think that the whole idea is one, and yet,
being one, is in each one of the many ?
Why not, Parmenides ? said Socrates.
Because one and the same thing will exist as a whole
at the same time in many separate individuals, and will
therefore be in a state of separation from itself
Nay, but the idea may be like the day which is one and
the same in many places at once, and yet continuous with
itself; in this way each idea may be one and the same in all
at the same time.
I like your way, Socrates, of making one in many places
at once. You mean to say, that if I were to spread out a
sail and cover a number of men, there would be one whole
including many—is not that your meaning?
I think so.
And would you say that the whole sail includes each man,
or a part of it only, and different parts different men ?
The latter.
Then, Socrates, the ideas themselves will be divisible, and
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The origin and nature of ideas. 5 1
things which participate in them will have a part of them Par-
only and not the whole idea existing in each of them ?
That seems to follow. p^^ki.
Then would you like to say, Socrates, that the one idea is
really divisible and yet remains one ?
Certainly not, he said.
Suppose that you divide absolute greatness, and that of nor can
the many great things, each one is great in virtue of a ^j^^
portion of greatness less than absolute greatness— is that only parts
conceivable? ?^*f^'
for this
No. would
Or will each equal thing, if possessing some small portion ^^y
of equality less than absolute equality, be equal to some other absurdity.
thing by virtue of that j)ortion only ? Things
« ... cannot
Impossible. become
Or suppose one of us to have a portion of smallness ; this great or
is but a part of the small, and therefore the absolutely small ^^j ^
is greater ; if the absolutely small be greater, that to which addition of
the part of the small is added will be smaller and not greater 1^^
than before. or equality
How absurd I ^^"-
ness.
Then in what way, Socrates, will all things participate in
the ideas, if they are unable to participate in them either as
parts or wholes ?
Indeed, he said, you have asked a question which is not
easily answered.
Well, said Parmenides, and what do you say of another
question ?
What question ?
I imagine that the way in which you are led to assume one ideas are
132 idea of each kind is as follows : — You see a number of great ^^^^,
objects, and when you look at them there seems to you to be i«ation.
one and the same idea (or nature) in them all ; hence you
conceive of greatness as one.
Very true, said Socrates.
And if you go on and allow your mind in like manner to But the
embrace in one view the idea of greatness and of .grjgjit ^^^^ "*
things which are not the idea, and to compare them, will not ticuiars
another greatness arise, which will appear to be the source J^*^^
of all these? idea;
E 2
new
Digitized by VjOOQIC
52
Various explanations of the ideas.
Par-
menides.
SoauTBs,
Parmkkidbs.
the new
idea and its
particulars
another ;
and so ad
infinitum.
It is
suggested
that the
ideas are
thoughts
only.— This
solution is
rejected.
Afresh
attempt.
The ideas
are
patterns,
and other
things will
belike
them. But
then there
will be like-
ness of the
like to the
like, and a
common
idea in-
cluding
both ; and
so on ad
infinitum.
It would seem so.
Then another idea of greatness now comes into view over
and above absolute greatness, and the individuals which par-
take of it ; and then another, over and above all these, by
virtue of which they will all be great, and so each idea
instead of being one will be infinitely multiplied.
But may not the ideas, asked Socrates, be thoughts only,
and have no proper existence except in our minds, Parmen-
ides ? For in that case each idea may still be one, and not
experience this infinite multiplication.
And can there be individual thoughts which are thoughts
of nothing ?
Impossible, he said«
The thought must be of something ?
Yes.
Of something which is or which is not ?
Of something which is.
Must it not be of a single something, which the thought
recognizes as attaching to all, being a single form or nature ?
Yes.
And will not the something which la apprehended as one
and the same in all, be an idea ?
From that, again, there is no es(Jape.
Then, said Parmenides, if you say that everything else par-
ticipates in the ideas, must you not say either that everything
is made up of thoughts, and that all things think ; or that
they are thoughts but have no thought ?
The latter view, Parmenides, js no more rational than the
previous one. In my opinion, the ideas are, as it were,
patterns fixed in nature, and other things are like them, and
resemblances of them— what is meant by the participation
of other things in the ideas, is really assimilation to them.
But if, said he, the individual is like the idea, must not the
idea also be like the individual, in so far as the individual is
a resemblance of the idea ? That which is like, cannot be
conceived of as other than the like of like.
Impossible.
And when two things are alike, must they not partake of
the same idea ?
They must.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Impossibility of their separate or absolute existence. 53
And will not that of which the two partake, and which Par-
makes them alike, be the idea itself? menides.
Certainly. Soc«at«s,
Then the idea cannot be like the individual, or the indi-
vidual like the idea ; for if they are alike, some further idea
133 of likeness will always be coming to light, and if that be like
anything else, another ; and new ideas will be always arising,
if the idea resembles that which partakes of it ?
Quite true.
The theory, then, that other things participate in the ideas Resem-
by resemblance, has to be given up, and some other mode **^*"<^
of participation devised ? given up.
It would seem so.
Do you see then, Socrates, how great is the diflSculty of
affirming the ideas to be absolute ?
Yes, indeed.
And, further, let me say that as yet you only understand a
small part of the difficulty which is involved if you make of
each thing a single idea, parting it off from other things.
What difficulty ? he said.
There are many, but the greatest of all is this: — If an
opponent argues that these ideas, being such as we say they
ought to be, must remain unknown, no one can prove to him
that he is wrong, unless he who denies their existence be a ^
man of great ability and knowledge, and is willing to follow a
long and laborious demonstration ; he will remain uncon-
vinced, and still insist that they cannot be known.
What do you mean, Parmenides ? said Socrates.
In the first place, I think, Socrates, that you, or any one Weas
who maintains the existence of absolute essences, will admit „© longer
that they cannot exist in us. absolute, if
No, said Socrates; for then they would be no longer ^^j^.
absolute. And if
True, he said ; and therefore when ideas are what they are JJJgn^^^ey**
in relation to one another, their essence is determined by a and thdr
relation among themselves, and has nothing to do with the fcsem-
. , . , , . . blances m
resemblances, or whatever they are to be termed, which are our sphere
in our sphere, and from which we receive this or that name *« related
when we partake of them. And the things which are within SSemseWes
our sphere and have the same names with them, are likewise <>"*y ^^
Digitized by VjOOQIC
54
A strange consequence which follows.
Par-
nunides,
Socrates,
PARMBmOBS.
not to one
another.
For ex-
ample, we
must dis-
tinguish
the indi-
vidual slave
and master
in the con-
crete from
the ideas of
mastership
and
slavery
in the
abstract.
The truth
which we
have will
correspond
to the
knowledge
which we
have ; and
we have no
knowledge
of the
absolute
or of the
ideas.
only relative to one another, and not to the ideas which have
the same names with them, but belong to themselves and not
to them.
What do you mean ? said Socrates.
I may illustrate my meaning in this way, said Parmenides :
— A master has a slave ; now there is nothing absolute in the
relation between them, which is simply a relation of one man
to another. But there is also an idea of mastership in the
abstract, which is relative to the idea of slavery in the ab-
stract. These natures have nothing to do with us, nor we 134
with them ; they are concerned with themselves only, and we
with ourselves. Do you see my meaning ?
Yes, said Socrates, I quite see your meaning.
And will not knowledge— I mean absolute knowledge—
answer to absolute truth ?
Certainly.
And each kind of absolute knowledge will answer to each
kind of absolute being ?
Yes.
But the knowledge which we have, will answer to the truth
which we have ; and again, each kind of knowledge which we
have, will be a knowledge of each kind of being which we
have?
Certainly.
But the ideas themselves, as you admit, we have not, and
cannot have ?
No, we cannot
And the absolute natures or kinds are known severally by
the absolute idea of knowledge ?
Yes.
And we have not got the idea of knowledge ?
No.
Then none of the ideas are known to us, because we have
no share in absolute knowledge ?
I suppose not.
Then the nature of the beautiful in itself, and of the good
in itself, and all other ideas which we suppose to exist
absolutely, are unknown to us?
It would seem so.
I think that there is a stranger consequence still.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
A cansequence still more strange. 55
What is it ? Par-
Would you, or would you not say, that absolute know- ''«^^<*?'-
ledge, if there is such a thing, must be a far more exact Socrates,
knowledge than our knowledge ; and the same of beauty and
- . ^^ Another
ol the rest t objection.
Yes. God above
And if there be such a thing as participation in absolute j^^ vno^t-
knowledge, no one is more likely than God to have this most ledge. But
exact knowledge ? 'l^;^^
Certainly. have a
But then, will God, having absolute knowledge, have a i^^wiedge
knowledge of human things ? things, be-
Why not? cause they
Because, Socrates, said Parmenides, we have admitted that ^2^
the ideas are not valid in relation to human things ; nor human ^v^^-
things in relation to them ; the relations of either are limited
to their respective spheres.
Yes, that has been admitted.
And if God has this perfect authority, and perfect know-
ledge, his authority cannot rule us, nor his knowledge
know us, or any human thing ; just as our authority does
not extend to the gods, nor our knowledge know any-
thing which is divine, so by parity of reason they, being
gods, are not our masters, neither do they know the things
of men.
Yet, surely, said Socrates, to deprive God of knowledge is
monstrous.
135 These, Socrates, said Parmenides, are a few, and only a
few of the difficulties in which we are involved if ideas
really are and we determine each one of them to be an abso-
lute unity. He who hears what may be said against them
will deny the very existence of them — and even if they do
exist, he will say that they must of necessity be unknown to
man ; and he will seem to have reason on his side, and as
we were remarking just now, will be very difficult to con-
vince ; a man must be gifted with very considerable ability
before he can learn that ever3rthing has a class and an
absolute essence ; and still more remarkable will he be who
discovers all these things for himself, and having thoroughly
investigated them is able to teach them to others.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
56
The double method of conseqtiences
Par-
menides.
Socrates,
Parmbnidbs.
Pannenides
has ob-
served
Socrates
to be
untried in
dialectic.
Hesuggests
that the
conse-
quences of
the not
being, as
well as of
the being
of anything,
should be
considered.
I agree with you, Parmenides, said Socrates ; and what
you say is very much to my mind.
And yet, Socrates, said Parmenides, if a man, fixing his
attention on these and the like difficulties, does away with
ideas of things and will not admit that every individual thing
has its own determinate idea which is always one and the
same, he will have nothing on which his mind can rest ; and
so he will utterly destroy the power of reasoning, as you seem
to me to have particularly noted.
Very true, he said.
But, then, what is to become of philosophy? Whither
shall we turn, if the ideas are unknown ?
I certainly do not see my way at present.
Yes, said Parmenides ; and I think that this arises,
Socrates, out of your attempting to define the beautiful, the
just, the good, and the ideas generally, without sufficient pre-
vious training. I noticed your deficiency, when I heard you
talking here with your friend Aristoteles, the day before
yesterday. The impulse that carries you towards philosophy
is assuredly noble and divine ; but there is an art which is
called by the vulgar idle talking, and which is often imagined
to be useless ; in that you must train and exercise yourself,
now that you are young, or truth will elude your grasp.
And what is the nature of this exercise, Parmenides, which
you would recommend ?
That which you heard Zeno practising ; at the same time,
I give you credit for saying to him that you did not care to
examine the perplexity in reference to visible things, or to
consider the question in that way ; but only in reference to
objects of thought, and to what may be called ideas.
Why, yes, he said, there appears to me to be no difficulty
in showing by this method that visible things are like and
unlike and may experience anything.
Quite true, said Parmenides ; but I think that you should
go a step further, and consider not only the consequences
which flow from a given hypothesis, but also the con- 136
sequences which flow from denying the hypothesis ; and
that will be still better training for you.
What do you mean ? he said.
I mean, for example, that in the case of this very hypothesis
Digitized by VjOOQIC
applied to the one and many. 57
of Zeno's about the many, you should inquire not only Par-
what will be the consequences to the many in relation to ^f*^^***^-
themselves and to the one, and to the one in relation to itself Socrates.
and the many, on the hypothesis of the being of the many, ZEwa
but also what will be the consequences to the one and the
many in their relation to themselves and to each other, on the
opposite h3rpothesis. Or, again, if likeness is or is not, what
will be the consequences in either of these cases to the sub-
jects of the hypothesis, and to other things, in relation both
to themselves and to one another, and so of unlikeness ; and
the same holds good of motion and rest, of generation and
destruction, and even of being and not-being. In a word,
when you sup{)ose an3rthing to be or not to be, or to be in any
way affected, you must look at the consequences in relation to
the thing itself, and to any other things which you choose, —
to each of them singly, to more than one, and to all ; and so
of other things, you must look at them in relation to them-
selves and to anything else which you suppose either to be or
not to be, if you would train yourself perfectly and see the
real truth.
That, Parmenides, is a tremendous business of which you Socrates
speak, and I do not quite understand you ; will you take ^ ***™ ^^
some hypothesis and go through the steps? — then I shall example of
apprehend you better. thisprocess.
That, Socrates, is a serious task to impose on a man of my Parmenides
is at first
y^^^- disinclined
Then will you, Zeno ? said Socrates. to engage
Zeno answered with a smile : — Let us make our petition j^t^rious
to Parmenides himself, who is quite right in saying that you pasUmc ;
are hardly aware of the extent of the task which you are ^»»*a*^e
"^ . request of
imposing on him ; and if there were more of us I should not the com-
ask him, for these are not subjects which any one, especially ^^;J|^^?
at his age, can well speak of before a large audience ; most
people are not aware that this roundabout progress through
all things is the only way in which the mind can attain truth
and wisdom. And therefore, Parmenides, I join in the
request of Socrates, that I may hear the process again which
I have not heard for a long time.
When Zeno had thus spoken, Pythodorus, according to
Antiphon's report of him, said, that he himself and Aristo-
Digitized by VjOOQIC
58
If one is, what are the consequences ?
Par-
menidts,
Parmkmiobs,
Zbmo,
Aristo-
TBLBS.
i.a. Iflhe
one is, it
cannot
be nuuiy.
and there-
fore cannot
have parts,
or be a
whole,
because a
whole is
made up
of parts;
teles and the whole company entreated Parmenides to give
an example of the process. I cannot refuse, said Par-
menides ; and yet I feel rather like Ibycus, who, when in his 137
old age, against his will, he fell in love, compared himself to
an old racehorse, who was about to run in a chariot race,
shaking with fear at the course he knew so well— this was his
simile of himself. And I also experience a trembling when I
remember through what an ocean of words I have to wade at
my time of life. But I must indulge you, as Zeno says that I
ought, and we are alone. Where shall I begin ? And what
shall be our first hypothesis, if I am to attempt this laborious
pastime ? Shall I begin with myself, and take my own hypo-
thesis of the one ? and consider the consequences which follow
on the supposition either of the being or of the not-being of
one?
By all means, said Zeno.
And who will answer me ? he said. Shall I propose the
youngest? He will not make difficulties and will be the
most likely to say what he thinks ; and his answers will give
me time to breathe.
I am the one whom you mean, Parmenides, said Aristo-
teles ; for I am the youngest and at your service. Ask, and
I will answer.
Parmenides proceeded: i.a. If one is, he said, the one
cannot be many ?
Impossible.
Then the one cannot have parts, and cannot be a whole ?
Why not?
Because every part is part of a whole ; is it not ?
Yes.
And what is a whole ? would not that of which no part is
wanting be a whole ?
Certainly.
Then, in either case, the one would be made up of parts ;
both as being a whole, and also as having parts ?
To be sure.
And in either case, the one would be many, and not one ?
True.
But, surely, it ought to be one and not many ?
It ought.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
If one has parts, what are the conseqtiences ? 59
Then, if the one is to remain one, it will not be a whole, Par-
and will not have parts ? menides.
J^Q Pakmbnidis,
AlU8TO>
But if it has no parts, it will have neither beginning, teuw.
middle, nor end ; for these would of course be parts of it. and having
^^^^ cannot have
But then, again, a beginning and an end are the limits of abeginning.
everything? middle, and
Certainly. nor any
Then the one, having neither beginning nor end, is un- J?""*®*"
1- -x JO 00 form.
limited ?
Yes, unlimited.
And therefore formless; for it cannot partake either of
round or straight.
But why ?
Why, because the round is that of which all the extreme it is neither
points are equidistant from the centre ? t^^\, "'"'^
Yes.
And the straight is that of which the centre intercepts the
view of the extremes ?
True.
138 Then the one would have parts and would be many, if it
partook either of a straight or of a circular form ?
Assuredly.
But having no parts, it will be neither straight nor round ?
Right.
And, being of such a nature, it cannot be in any place, for it docs not
it cannot be either in another or in itself. *^"** *,**
any place ;
How SO ?
Because if it were in another, it would be encircled by that
in which it was, and would touch it at many places and with
many parts ; but that which is one and indivisible, and does
not partake of a circular nature, cannot be touched all round
in many places.
Certainly not
But if, on the other hand, one were in itself, it would also
be contained by nothing else but itself ; that is to say, if it
were really in itself; for nothing can be in anything which
does not contain it.
* Omitting hv.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
6o
The one admits neither of motion.
Par-
menides,
Parmenidesi
AltlSTO-
TBLBS.
it has
neither
rest nor
motion.
Two forms
of motion—
(x) change
of nature ;
(2) loco-
motion.
Two forms
of loco-
motion— {a)
in a place ;
{b) from
one i^ce
to another.
The one
does not
admit of
change of
nature, nor
of either
form of lo-
comotion :
Impossible.
But then, that which contains must be other than that
which is contained ? for the same whole cannot do and suffer
both at once ; and if so, one will be no longer one, but two ?
True.
Then one cannot be anywhere, either in itself or in another ?
No.
Further consider, whether that which is of such a nature
can have either rest or motion.
Why not ?
Why, because the one, if it were moved, would be either
moved in place or changed in nature ; for these are the only
kinds of motion.
Yes.
And the one, when it changes and ceases to be itself, cannot
be any longer one.
It cannot.
It cannot therefore experience the sort of motion which is
change of nature ?
Clearly not
Then can the motion of the one be in place ?
Perhaps.
But if the one moved in place, must it not either move round
and round in the same place, or from one place to another ?
It must.
And that which moves in a circle must rest upon a centre ;
and that which goes round upon a centre must have parts
which are different from the centre ; but that which has no
centre and no parts cannot possibly be carried round upon a
centre ?
Impossible.
But perhaps the motion of the one consists in change of
place ?
Perhaps so, if it moves at all.
And have we not already shown that it cannot be in any-
thing ?
Yes.
Then its coming into being in anything is still more impos-
sible ; is it not ?
I do not see why.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
nor yet of rest, 6 1
Why, because anything which comes into being in any- Par-
thing, can neither as yet be in that other thing while still ''*^^ ^"
coming into being, nor be altogether out of it, if already ^r"^'''***
coming into being in it. trles.
Certainly not.
And therefore whatever comes into being in another must
have parts, and then one part may be in, and another part
out of that other ; but that which has no parts can never be
at one and the same time neither wholly within nor wholly
without an3rthing.
True.
And is there not a still greater impossibility in that which
has no parts, and is not a whole, coming into being an3rwhere,
139 since it cannot come into being either as a part or as a whole ?
Clearly.
Then it does not change place by revolving in the same
spot, nor by going somewhere and coming into being in
something ; nor again, by change in itself?
Very true.
Then in respect of any kind of motion the one is im-
moveable ?
Immoveable.
But neither can the one be in anything, as we affirm ? Again, the
Yes, we said so. ZXt""^.
' ^ m toe same
Then it is never in the same? any more
Why not? ... o'^erir;
Because if it were in the same it would be in something. is therefore
Certainly. in no place
^ < . . zxiCi there-
And we said that it could not be in itself, and could not be fore in-
in other? <^;P*W«
^ of rest.
True.
Then one is never in the same place ?
It would seem not.
But that which is never in the same place is never quiet or
at rest ?
Never.
One then, as would seem, is neither at rest nor in motion ?
It certainly appears so.
Neither will it be the same with itself or other ; nor again,
other than itself or other.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
62 The one is neither other than itself.
Par- How is that ?
''"^ If other than itself it would be other than one, and would
PAmMBitiDKs, not be one.
Aristo* ,_
TBLBs. True.
Neither And if the same with other, it would be that other, and
otherness ^ot itself; SO that upon * this supposition too, it would not
ness canbe have the nature of one, but would be other than one ?
attributed It would.
in reference Then it wiU not be the same with other, or other than
to itself or itself?
^'*'^' It will not.
Neither will it be other than other, while it remains one ;
for not one, but only other, can be other than other, and
nothing else.
True.
Then not by virtue of being one will it be other ?
Certainly not.
But if not by virtue of being one, not by virtue of itself;
and if not by virtue of itself, not itself, and itself not being
other at all, will not be other than anything ?
Right.
Neither will one be the same with itself.
How not?
Surely the nature of the one is not the nature of the same.
Why not ?
It is not when anything becomes the same with anything
that it becomes one.
What of that ?
Anything which becomes the same with the many, neces-
sarily becomes many and not one.
True.
But, if there were no difference between the one and the
same, when a thing became the same, it would always become
one ; and when it became one, the same ?
Certainly.
And, therefore, if one be the same with itself, it is not one
with itself, and will therefore be one and also not one.
Surely that is impossible.
And therefore the one can neither be other than other, nor
the same with itself.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
nor the same with itself, 63
Impossible. Par-
And thus the one can neither be the same, nor other, either *'»^^^*
in relation to itself or other ? Pamiekides.
Aristo-
NO. TBLM.
Neither will the one be like an3rthing or unlike itself or other, nor yet
Why not? ""^^f?'
wbicb IS
Because likeness is sameness of affections. sameness
Yes. °^ affec-
And sameness has been shown to be of a nature distinct uniikeness.
from oneness ?
That has been shown.
140 But if the one had any other affection than that of being
one, it would be affected in such a way as to be more than
one ; which is impossible.
True.
Then the one can never be so affected as to be the same
either with another or with itself?
Clearly not
Then it cannot be like another, or like itself?
No.
Nor can it be affected so as to be other, for then it would
be affected in such a way as to be more than one.
It would.
That which is affected otherwise than itself or another,
will be unlike itself or another, for sameness of affections
is likeness.
True.
But the one, as appears, never being affected otherwise, is
never unlike itself or other ?
Never.
Then the one will never be either like or unlike itself
or other ?
Plainly not.
Again, being of this nature, it can neither be equal nor nor
unequal either to itself or to other. equality.
^ nor m-
HOW IS that ? equality
Why, because the one if equal must be of the same o^'si^e;
measures as that to which it is equal.
True.
And if greater or less than things which are commensurable
Digitized by VjOOQIC
64 The contradiction involved in ascribing
Par- with it, the one will have more measures than that which is
men es, \^^^^ 3,^ j fewer than that which is greater ?
Pakmknidbs, V*»c
Aeisto- ^ ^^*
TKLB8. And SO of things which are not commensurate with it, the
one will have greater measures than that which is less and
smaller than that which is greater.
Certainly.
But how can that which does not partake of sameness,
have either the same measures or have anything else the
same?
Impossible.
And not having the same measures, the one cannot be
equal either with itself or with another?
It appears so.
But again, whether it have fewer or more measures, it will
have as many parts as it has measures ; and thus again the
one will be no longer one but will have as many parts as
measures.
Right.
And if it were of one measure, it would be equal to that
measure ; yet it has been shown to be incapable of equality.
It has.
Then it will neither partake of one measure, nor of many,
nor of few, nor of the same at all, nor be equal to itself or
another ; nor be greater or less than itself, or other ?
Certainly,
nor equality Well, and do we suppose that one can be older, or
equality of younger than anything, or of the same age with it ?
age ; Why not ?
Why, because that which is of the same age with itself or
other, must partake of equality or likeness of time ; and we
said that the one did not partake either of equality or of
likeness ?
We did say so.
And we also said, that it did not partake of inequality or
unlikeness.
Very true. ,41
How then can one, being of this nature, be either older or
younger than anything, or have the same age with it ?
In no way.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
a7iy relation to unity leads to the denial of it. 65
Then one cannot be older or younger, or of the same age, Par-
either with itself or with another ? '^^^'
Clearly not. li^""**
Then the one, being of this nature, cannot be in time at telei.
all ; for must not that which is in time, be always growing nor time,
older than itself?
Certainly.
And that which is older, must always be older than some-
thing which is younger ?
True.
Then, that which becomes older than itself, also becomes
at the same time younger than itself, if it is to have something
to become older than.
What do you mean ?
I mean this :— A thing does not need to become different
from another thing which is already different ; it is different,
and if its different has become, it has become different ; if its
different will be, it will be different; but of that which is
becoming different, there cannot have been, or be about to
be, or yet be, a different — the only different possible is one
which is becoming.
That is inevitable.
But, surely, the elder is a difference relative to the
younger, and to nothng else.
True.
Then that which becomes older than itself must also, at
the same time, become younger than itself?
Yes.
But again, it is true that it cannot become for a longer or
for a shorter time than itself, but it must become, and be,
and have become, and be about to be, for the same time with
itself?
That again is inevitable.
Then things which are in time, and partake of time, must
in every case, I suppose, be of the same age with them-
selves; and must also become at once older and younger
than themselves?
Yes.
But the one did not partake of those affections?
Not at all.
VOL. IV.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
66
Par-
menides,
Parmenidbs,
Aristo-
TBLES.
nor modes
of time.
But these
are the
only modes
of partaking
of being,
and if they
area]]
denied of
it, then the
one is not,
and has
therefore
no attribute
or relation,
etc.
The con-
clusion is
unsatisfac-
tory.
i. b. If one
The original hypothesis.
Then it does not partake of time, and is not in any time ?
So the argument shows.
Well, but do not the expressions 'was,' and ' has become,'
and 'was becoming,' signify a participation of past time ?
Certainly.
And do not 'will be,' 'will become,' 'will have become,'
signify a participation of future time ?
Yes.
And *is,' or * becomes,' signifies a participation of present
time?
Certainly.
And if the one is absolutely without participation in time,
it never had become, or was becoming, or was at any time,
or is now become or is becoming, or is, or will become,
or will have become, or will be, hereafter.
Most true.
But are there any modes of partaking of being other than
these ?
There are none.
Then the one cannot possibly partake of being?
That is the inference.
Then the one is not at all ?
Clearly not.
Then the one does not exist in such way as to be one;
for if it were and partook of being, it would already be ; but
if the argument is to be trusted, the one neither is nor is
one?
True. 142
But that which is not admits of no attribute or relation ?
Of course not.
Then there is no name, nor expression, nor perception,
or opinion, nor knowledge of it ?
Clearly not.
Then it is neither named, nor expressed, nor opined, nor
known, nor does anything that is perceive it.
So we must infer.
But can all this be true about the one ?
I think not.
i. b. Suppose, now, that we return once more to the
/
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The infinite multiplicity of the one which is, 67
original hypothesis ; let us see whether, on a further review, Par-
any new aspect of the question appears. ^^' ^'
I shall be very happy to do so. Ai^^"*"'
We say that we have to work out together all the con- t«les.
sequences, whatever they may be, which follow, if the is, what
one is? will follow?
Yes.
Then we will begin at the beginning : — If one is, can one
be, and not partake of being ?
Impossible.
Then the one will have being, but its being will not be the The one
same with the one ; for if the same, it would not be the ^^^^ ^^^^
being of the one; nor would the one have participated in of being,
being, for the proposition that one is would have been »"dwiii
identical with the proposition that one is one; but our have parts,
hypothesis is not if one is one, what will follow, but if one ®°* ^^
IS : — am I not right ?
Quite right.
We mean to say, that being has not the same significance
as one?
Of course.
And when we put them together shortly, and say * One is,'
that is equivalent to saying, * partakes of being ' ?
Quite true.
Once more then let us ask, if one is what will follow, and each
Does not this hypothesis necessarily imply that one is of ^^n^
such a nature as to have parts ? being for
How so? the parts of
Itself;
In this way : — If being is predicated of the one, if the one and so on
is, and one of being, if being is one; and if being and one ^."*"
are not the same ; and since the one, which we have
assumed, is, must not the whole, if it is one, itself be, and
have for its parts, one and being ?
Certainly.
And is each of these parts — one and being— to be simply
called a part, or must the word 'part' be relative to the
word 'whole'?
The latter.
Then that which is one is both a whole and has a part ?
Certainly.
F 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
68 One apart front being, still implies plurality,
^^^' Again, of the parts of the one, if it is — I mean being and
one — does either fail to imply the other ? is the one wanting
Iri^'"'""' to being, or being to the one ?
TBLKs. Impossible.
Thus, each of the parts also has in turn both one and
being, and is at the least made up of two parts ; and the
same principle goes on for ever, and every part whatever
has always these two parts; for being always involves
one, and one being ; so that one is always disappearing, and
becoming two.
Certainly. 143
And so the one, if it is, must be infinite in multiplicity ?
Clearly.
Let us take another direction.
What direction ?
We say that the one partakes of being and therefore
it is?
Yes.
Another And in this way, the one, if it has being, has turned out to
argument, be many?
True.
When one But now, let US abstract the one which, as we say, partakes
stracted ^^ tiding, and try to imagine it apart from that of which, as
from being, we say, it partakes— will this abstract one be one only or
differents. One, I think.
Let us see : — Must nof the being of one be other than
one ? for the one is not being, but, considered as one, only
partook of being ?
Certainly.
If being and the one be two different things, it is not
because the one is one that it is other than being; nor
because being is being that it is other than the one ; but they
differ from one another in virtue of otherness and difference.
Certainly.
So that the other is not the same— either with the one or
with being?
Certainly not.
And therefore whether we take being and the other, or
being and the one, or the one and the other, in every
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Construction of numbers. 69
such case we take two things, which may be rightly called ^-^f;
both.
How so. ^''«-
In this way — you may speak of being ? ""*
Yes.
And also of one ?
Yes.
Then now we have spoken of either of them ?
Yes.
Well, and when I speak of being and one, I speak of them Transition
Certainly.
And if I speak of being and the other, or of the one and
the other, — in any such case do I not speak of both ?
Yes.
And must not that which is correctly called both, be also
two?
Undoubtedly.
And of two things how can either by any possibility not
be one?
It cannot.
Then, if the individuals of the pair are together two, they from odd
must be severally one? j."''^
Clearly.
And if each of them is one, then by the addition of any one
to any pair, the whole becomes three ?
Yes.
And three are odd, and two are even ?
Of course.
And if there are two there must also be twice, and if there from ad-
are three there must be thrice ; that is, if twice one makes ^^^" ^^
two, and thrice one three ? cation.
Certainly.
There are two, and twice, and therefore there must be
twice two; and there are three, and there is thrice, and
therefore there must be thrice three ?
Of course.
If there are three and twice, there is twice three ; and if
there are two and thrice, there is thrice two ?
Undoubtedly.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
70
The infinite divisibility of being and of one.
Par-
menides.
Parmbmides,
Ajusto-
TBLBS.
Out of the
one that
is, has
come differ-
ence, and
from
difference
number of
every sort.
and number
is co-
extensive
with being ;
for every
single part
of being,
however
small, is
Here, then, we have even taken even times, and odd taken I44
odd times, and even taken odd times, and odd taken even
times.
True.
And if this is so, does any number remain which has no
necessity to be ?
None whatever.
Then if one is, number must also be ?
It must.
But if there is number, there must also be many, and
infinite multiplicity of being ; for number is infinite in multi-
plicity, and partakes also of being : am I not right ?
Certainly.
And if all number participates in being, every part of
number will also participate ?
Yes.
Then being is distributed over the whole multitude of
things, and nothing that is, however small or however great,
is devoid of it? And, indeed, the very supposition of this is
absurd, for how can that which is, be devoid of being ?
In no way.
And it is divided into the greatest and into the smallest,
and into being of all sizes, and is broken up more than all
things ; the divisions of it have no limit.
True.
Then it has the greatest number of parts?
Yes, the greatest number.
Is there any of these which is a part of being, and yet no
part?
Impossible.
But if it is at all and so long as it is, it must be one, and
cannot be none ?
Certainly.
Then the one attaches to every single part of being, and
does not fail in any part, whether great or small, or whatever
may be the size of it ?
True.
But reflect :— Can one, in its entirety, be in many places at
the same time ?
No ; I see the impossibility of that.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
divided into
as many
Contradictory aspects of the One. 7 1
And if not in its entirety, then it is divided ; for it cannot Par-
be present with all the parts of being, unless divided. *'^ ^^'
HTj-jg Parmbhides,
Aristo-
And that which has parts will be as many as the parts are? tele*.
Certainly. Again, one
Then we were wrong in saying just now, that being was many"
distributed into the greatest number of parts. For it is not places as
distributed into parts more than the one, but into parts equal musf there-
to the one; the one is never wanting to being, or being fore be
to the one, but being two they are co-equal and co-ex-
tensive, parts
Certainly that is true.
The one itself, then, having been broken up into parts by
being, is many and infinite ?
True.
Then not only the one which has being is many, but the The ab-
one itself distributed by being, must also be many? ^^di^"^'
Certainly. the one
Further, inasmuch as the parts are parts of a whole, the wWch js,
11 Mt 1 f . 1 /. . IS both one
145 one, as a whole, will be limited; for are not the parts con- and many,
tained by the whole? fi"'^« ^^
^ ^ . , infinite.
Certainly.
And that which contains, is a limit ?
Of course.
Then the one if it has being is one and many, whole and
parts, having limits and yet unlimited in number ?
Clearly.
And because having limits, also having extremes ?
Certainly.
And if a whole, having beginning and middle and end.
For can anything be a whole without these three ? And if
any one of them is wanting to anything, will that any longer
be a whole ?
No.
Then the one, as appears, will have beginning, middle, The one, as
and end. '^7'' ^
whole and
It will. also finite,
But again, the middle will be equidistant from the ex- hasabe-
• 11 » • 1 • 1 11 *% ginning,
tremes ; or it would not be in the middle t middle and
Yes. ^"^' *"^
Digitized by VjOOQIC
72
// is in itself y yet in other;
Par-
menides,
Pakmbkidbs,
Aristo-
TBLKS.
so partakes
of figure.
Regarded
as the sum
of its parts,
it is in
itself;
r^;arded as
a whole, it
is in other,
because it
is not in
the parts,
neither in
one, nor
more than
one, nor
in all.
Then the one will partake of figure, either rectilinear or
round, or a union of the two?
True.
And if this is the case, it will be both in itself and in
another too.
How?
Every part is in the whole, and none is outside the
whole.
True.
And all the parts are contained by the whole ?
Yes.
And the one is all its parts, and neither more nor less
than all?
No.
And the one is the whole ?
Of course.
But if all the parts are in the whole, and the one is all
of them and the whole, and they are all contained by the
whole, the one will be contained by the one ; and thus the
one will be in itself.
That is true.
But then, again, the whole is not in the parts — neither in
all the parts, nor in some one of them. For if it is in all, it
must be in one ; for if there were any one in which it was
not, it could not be in all the parts ; for the part in which it
is wanting is one of all, and if the whole is not in this, how
can it be in them all ?
It cannot.
Nor can the whole be in some of the parts ; for if the
whole were in some of the parts, the greater would be in the
less, which is impossible.
Yes, impossible.
But if the whole is neither in one, nor in more than one,
nor in all of the parts, it must be in something else, or cease
to be anywhere at all ?
Certainly.
If it were nowhere, it would be nothing ; but being a whole,
and not being in itself, it must be in another.
Very true.
The one then, regarded as a whole, is in another, but
Digitized by VjOOQIC
at rest, yet in motion. 73
regarded as being all its parts, is in itself; and therefore the Par-
one must be itself in itself and also in another. nunides.
Certainly. Parmemides,
The one then, being of this nature, is of necessity both at telm.
rest and in motion ? The one
How '> therefore is
* , ... . . *^th at
The one is at rest since it is in itself, for being in one, and rest and in
146 not passing out of this, it is in the same, which is itself. moUon: at
^ ° ' ' rest, if in
Irue. itself ; in
And that which is ever in the same, must be ever at motion. »f
^ o in another,
rest?
Certainly.
Well, and must not that, on the contrary, which is ever in
other, never be in the same ; and if never in the same, never
at rest, and if not at rest, in motion ?
True.
Then the one being always itself in itself and other, must
always be both at rest and in motion ?
Clearly.
And must be the same with itself, and other than itself;
and also the same with the others, and other than the others;
this follows from its previous affections.
How so?
Everything in relation to every other thing, is either the Four pos-
same or other ; or if neither the same nor other, then in the f*^}*^ "*" .
lations of
relation of a part to a whole, or of a whole to a part. two things :
Clearly. (^) ^^
And IS the one a part of itself? otherness.
Certainly not. (3) part
Since it is not a part in relation to itself it cannot be related (^j ^hoje '
to itself as whole to part ? and part.
It cannot.
But is the one other than one ?
No.
And therefore not other than itself?
Certainly not.
If then it be neither other, nor a whole, nor a part in '^^^ J>"f
' » r stands to
relation to itself, must it not be the same with itself? itself in
Certainly. t*^« relation
But then, again, a thing which is in another place from ness,
Digitized by VjOOQIC
74
One and not-one are other.
Par-
menides.
PARMSNtDBS,
Aristo-
TELBS.
but, as
existing in
another
place than
itself, of
otherness.
The one is
proved to
be also
other than
the not-one
and so
other than
other.
Yet from
another
point of
view neither
the one nor
the not-one
can partake
of other-
ness, and
therefore
cannot
be other
than one
another.
'itself/ if this 'itself remains in the same place with itself,
must be other than 'itself/ for it will be in another place?
True.
Then the one has been shown to be at once in itself and
in another ?
Yes.
Thus, then, as appears, the one will be other than itself?
True.
Well, then, if anything be other than anything, will it not
be other than that which is other ?
Certainly.
And will not all things that are not one, be other than the
one, and the one other than the not-one ?
Of course.
Then the one will be other than the others ?
True.
But, consider : — Are not the absolute same, and the abso-
lute other, opposites to one another ?
Of course.
Then will the same ever be in the other, or the other in
the same ?
They will not.
If then the other is never in the same, there is nothing in
which the other is during any space of time ; for during that
space of time, however small, the other would be in the
same. Is'not that true?
Yes.
And since the other is never in the same, it can never be
in anything that is.
True.
Then the other will never be either in the not-one, or in
the one ?
Certainly not.
Then not by reason of otherness is the one other than the
not-one, or the not-one other than the one.
No.
Nor by reason of themselves will they be other than one
another, if not partaking of the other. 147
How can they be?
But if they are not other, either by reason of themselves
Digitized by VjOOQIC
yet the same; 75
or of the other, will they not altogether escape being other Par-
than one another? '''^^''^•
They will. pa«meh.des.
Again, the not-one cannot partake of the one ; otherwise teles.
it would not have been not-one, but would have been in Again,
»^«%«» «-.««.. ^'^^ the not-one
some way one. ^„„„, p^,.
True. take of the
Nor can the not-one be number; for having number, it JJ^^refore^it
would not have been not-one at all. cannot be
It would not. number;
and It
Again, is the not-one part of the one ; or rather, would it cannot be
not in that case partake of the one ? p*" ^"^
- , , whole of
It would. the one:
If then, in every point of view, the one and the not-one
are distinct, then neither is the one part or whole of the
not-one, nor is the not-one part or whole of the one ?
No.
But we said that things which are neither parts nor wholes and there-
of one another, nor other than one another, will be the same ^^^,^'
' ' cording to
with one another : — so we said ? our former
Yes. table of
Then shall we say that the one, being in this relation to the one is
the not-one, is the same with it ? ^^^ ^^^^
- with the
Let us say so. not-one.
Then it is the same with itself and the others, and also the same
other than itself and the others. ^ ^^
That appears to be the inference. than itself
And it will also be like and unlike itself and the others ? ^^ others.
r> u It is like
Ferhaps. and ^^^^.^
Since the one was shown to be other than the others, the itself and
others will also be other than the one. one^lid^"^
Yes. other are
And the one is other than the others in the same degree °^^ ^^"
^ one an-
that the others are other than it, and neither more nor less ? other, yet
True. other in
And if neither more nor less, then in a like degree ? d^ree.
Yes
*^^- , . And there-
in virtue of the affection by which the one is other than fore they are
others and others in like manner other than it, the one will ^^^^ »"
' the same
be affected like the others and the others like the one. manner.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
76
like^ yet unlike;
Par-
nunides,
Pabmbmides,
Aristo>
TELES.
For when
we apply
the same
name, we
imply the
presence of
the same
nature.
One, in
that it is
other than
the others,
is shown to
be like ; and
therefore,
in that it is
the same
with the
others, to
be unlike.
How do you mean ?
I may take as an illustration the case of names : You give
a name to a thing?
Yes.
And you may say the name once or oftener ?
Yes.
And when you say it once, you mention that of which it is
the name ? and when more than once, is it something else
which you mention ? or must it always be the same thing of
which you speak, whether you utter the name once or more
than once ?
Of course it is the same.
And is not ' other ' a name given to a thing ?
Certainly.
Whenever, then, you use the word 'other,' whether once
or oftener, you name that of which it is the name, and to no
other do you give the name ?
True.
Then when we say that the others are other than the one,
and the one other than the others, in repeating the word
'other* we speak of that nature to which the name is applied,
and of no other ?
Quite true.
Then the one which is other than others, and the other
which is other than the one, in that the word 'other' is 14B
applied to both, will be in the same condition ; and that
which is in the same condition is like?
Yes.
Then in virtue of the affection by which the one is other
than the others, every thing will be like every thing, for every
thing is other than every thing.
True.
Again, the like is opposed to the unlike ?
Yes.
And the other to the same ?
True again.
And the one was also shown to be the same with the others?
Yes.
And to be the same with the others is the opposite of
being other than the others ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
in contact, yet not in contact ; 77
Certainly. Par-
And in that it was other it was shown to be like ? mmides.
Yes. Pa«m«nides,
But in that it was the same it will be unlike by virtue of te^.
the opposite affection to that which made it like ; and this
was the affection of otherness.
Yes.
The same then will make it unlike ; otherwise it will not be
the opposite of the other.
True.
Then the one will be both like and unlike the others ; like
in so far as it is other, and unlike in so far as it is the same.
Yes, that argument may be used.
And there is another ailment.
What?
In so far as it is affected in the same way it is not affected From
otherwise, and not being affected otherwise is not unlike, and ^?nt*af
not being unlike, is like ; but in so far as it is affected by view the
other it is otherwise, and being otherwise affected is unlike. «>PPos'te
' o conse-
True. quences
Then because the one is the same with the others and foi*<>w-
other than the others, on either of these two grounds, or on
both of them, it will be both like and unlike the others?
Certainly.
And in the same way as being other than itself and the
same with itself, on either of these two grounds and on both
of them, it will be like and unlike itself?
Of course.
Again, how far can the one touch or not touch itself and Again, the
others ?-COnsider. one wiUand
will not
I am considering. touch both
The one was shown to be in itself which was a whole? itself and
_ others.
True. _ . .
All* 1 • '\ Being m
And also in other things ? both, it will
Yes. touch both.
In so far as it is in other things it would touch other
things, but in so far as it is in itself it would be debarred
from touching them, and would touch itself only.
Clearly.
Then the inference is that it would touch both ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
78
The nature of contact.
Par-
menides,
Parmbkidesi
Aristo-
TELES.
But if con-
tact implies
at least two
separate
things, one
cannot
touch itself,
—for it
cannot be
two ;
or other, —
for • other '
cannot be
' one'
thing.
It would.
But what do you say to a new point of view ? Must not
that which is to touch another be next to that which it is to
touch, and occupy the place nearest to that in which what it
touches is situated ?
True.
Then the one, if it is to touch itself, ought to be situated
next to itself, and occupy the place next to that in which
itself is ?
It ought.
And that would require that the one should be two, and
be in two places at once, and this, while it is one, will 149
never happen.
No.
Then the one cannot touch itself any more than it can
be two?
It cannot.
Neither can it touch others.
Why not ?
The reason is, that whatever is to touch another must be in
separation from, and next to, that which it is to touch, and
no third thing can be between them.
True.
Two things, then, at the least are necessary to make con-
tact possible ?
They are.
And if to the two a third be added in due order, the
number of terms will be three, and the contacts two ?
Yes.
And every additional term makes one additional contact,
whence it follows that the contacts are one less in number
than the terms; the first two terms exceeded the number
of contacts by one, and the whole number of terms exceeds
the whole number of contacts by one in like manner ; and
for every one which is afterwards added to the number of
terms, one contact is added to the contacts.
True.
Whatever is the whole number of things, the contacts will
be always one less.
True.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The one equal to itself, 79
But if there be only one, and not two, there will be no Par-
contact? "^^''^
How can there be? wo"^"*
And do we not say that the others being other than the
one are not one and have no part in the one ?
True.
Then they have no number, if they have no one in them ?
Of course not.
Then the others are neither one nor two, nor are they
called by the name of any number?
No.
One, then, alone is one, and two do not exist ?
Clearly not.
And if there are not two, there is no contact ?
There is not.
Then neither does the one touch the others, nor the others
the one, if there is no contact ?
Certainly not.
For all which reasons the one touches and does not touch
itself and the others ?
True.
Further— is the one equal and unequal to itself and others ? The one is
How do you mean ? ^-|^f„
It the one were greater or less than the others, or the itself and
others greater or less than the one, they would not be greater ^'^^^^ »
or less than each other in virtue of their being the one and
the others ; but, if in addition to their being what they are
they had equality, they would be equal to one another, or if
the one had smallness and the others greatness, or the one
had greatness and the others smallness — whichever kind had
greatness would be greater, and whichever had smallness
would be smaller ?
Certainly.
Then there are two such ideas as greatness and smallness ;
for if they were not they could not be opposed to each other
and be present in that which is.
How could they ?
150 If, then, smallness is present in the one it will be present
either in the whole or in a part of the whole ?
Certainly.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Pakmbnides,
Aristo*
TBLBS.
80 and to ot/te7';
Par- Suppose the first ; it will be either co-equal and co-extensive
memdes. ^j^ ^j^^ whole one, or will contain the one ?
Clearly.
If it be co-extensive with the one it will be co-equal with
equal, be- the one, or if containing the one it will be greater than
cause not the one ?
partaking
of greatness OfCOUrse.
and small- g^t can smallness be equal to anything or greater than
must par- anything, and have the functions of greatness and equality
take of and not its own functions ?
equality to j .,1
itself and Impossible.
others: Then smallness cannot be in the whole of one, but, if at
all, in a part only ?
Yes.
And surely not in all of a part, for then the difficulty of the
whole will recur ; it will be equal to or greater than any part
in which it is.
Certainly.
Then smallness will not be in anything, whether in a whole
or in a part ; nor will there be anything small but actual
smallness.
True.
Neither will greatness be in the one, for if greatness be in
anything there will be something greater other and besides
greatness itself, namely, that in which greatness is ; and this
too when the small itself is not there, which the one, if it is
great, must exceed ; this, however, is impossible, seeing that
smallness is wholly absent.
True.
But absolute greatness is only greater than absolute
smallness, and smallness is only smaller than absolute
greatness.
Very true.
Then other things are not greater or less than the one, if
they have neither greatness nor smallness ; nor have great-
ness or smallness any power of exceeding or being exceeded
in relation to the one, but only in relation to one another ;
nor will the one be greater or less than them or others, if it
has neither greatness nor smallness.
Clearly not.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
and also unequal to itself and to others. 8 1
Then if the one is neither greater nor less than the others, Par-
it cannot either exceed or be exceeded by them ?
Certainly not. w^T"^
And that which neither exceeds nor is exceeded, must be ^"-^
on an equality; and being on an equality, must be equal.
Of course.
And this will be true also of the relation of the one to
itself; having neither greatness nor smallness in itself, it
will neither exceed nor be exceeded by itself, but will be on
an equality with and equal to itself.
Certainly.
Then the one will be equal both to itself and the others ?
Clearly so.
And yet the one, being itself in itself, will also surround Unequal to
and be without itself; and, as containing itself, will be greater »^^f'7-i>e-
151 than itself; and, as contained in itself, will be less ; and will contains
thus be greater and less than itself. and u con-
h.i, tained in
Will. itself, and
Now there cannot possibly be anything which is not in- is therefore
eluded in the one and the others ? ETIhLT'*
Of course not. itself.
But, surely, that which is must always be somewhere ?
Yes.
But that which is in anything will be less, and that in which
it is will be greater; in no other way can one thing be in another.
True.
And since there is nothing other or besides the one and Unequal to
the others, and they must be in something, must they not be ^^^^^^
in one another, the one in the others and the others in the contains
one, if they are to be anywhere ? "*^ " *^^*
J.. , . , tained in
That IS clear. them, and
But inasmuch as the one is in the others, the others will be » therefore
greater than the one, because they contain the one, which will ^|Si^
be less than the others, because it is contained in them ; and them,
inasmuch as the others are in the one, the one on the same
principle will be greater than the others, and the others less
than the one.
True.
The one, then, will be equal to and greater and less than
itself and the others ?
VOL. IV. G
Digitized by VjOOQIC
82
Consequences which follow
Par-
menides,
jParmbnipe^
Aristo-
TELE^.
That which
is equal and
unequal to
itself and
others,
must be of
a number of
divisions
or parts
equal and
unequal to
itself and
others.
Clearly.
And if it be greater and less and equal, it will be of equal
and more and less measures or divisions than itself and the
others, and if of measures, also of parts ?
Of course.
And if of equal and more and less measures or divisions, it
will be in number more or less than itself and the others, and
likewise equal in number to itself and to the others ?
How is that?
It will be of more measures than those things which it
exceeds, and of as many parts as measures ; and so with that
to which it is equal, and that than which it is less.
True.
And being greater and less than itself, and equal to itself,
it will be of equal measures with itself and of more and
fewer measures than itself; and if of measures then also of
parts?
It will.
And being of equal parts with itself, it will be numerically
equal to itself; and being of more parts, more, and being of
less, less than itself?
Certainly.
And the same will hold of its relation to other things ; in-
asmuch as it is greater than them, it will be more in number
than them ; and inasmuch as it is smaller, it will be less in
number ; and inasmuch as it is equal in size to other things,
it will be equal to them in number.
Certainly.
Once more, then, as would appear, the one will be in
number both equal to and more and less than both itself and
all other things.
It will.
Does one
partake of
time and
become
older and
younger,
and neither
older nor
younger
than itself
and others?
Does the one also partake of time ? And is it and does it
become older and younger than itself and others, and again,
neither younger nor older than itself and others, by virtue of
participation in time ?
How do you mean ?
If one is, being must be predicated of it ?
Yes.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
if one partakes of time, 83
But to be (ciVai) is only participation of being in present Par-
152 time, and to have been is the participation of being at a past "^^
time, and to be about to be is the participation of being at a ^^1^^'°***
future time ? "lb..
Very true. The one is,
Then the one, since it partakes of being, partakes of time ? ^^ ^^
Certainly. takes of
And is not time always moving forward ? ^n<»'time*
Yes. is always
Then the one is always becoming older than itself, since it ?^^ .
moves forward in time ? becomes
Certainly. ?^d«" ^*»*n
itself.
And do you remember that the older becomes older than
that which becomes younger ?
I remember.
Then since the one becomes older than itself, it becomes But older
younger at the same time ? "^^^^^yl
Certainly. terms, and
Thus, then, the one becomes older as well as younger than ^[^crcfore
' ' ^ ^ that which
Itself? becomes
Yes. *^*^^ ^"^^
And it is older (is it not?) when in becoming, it gets to the becomeaiso
point of time between 'was* and 'will be,* which is 'now * : younger
for surely in going from the past to the future, it cannot skip
the present ?
No.
And when it arrives at the present it stops from becoming One
older, and no longer becomes, but is older, for if it went on ^^"J^m
it would never be reached by the present, for it is the nature it reaches
the now or
present ;
ceases to
become and
is older ;
of that which goes on, to touch both the present and the
future, letting go the present and seizing the future, while in Then it
process of becoming between them.
True.
But that which is becoming cannot skip the present ; when
it reaches the present it ceases to become, and is then what-
ever it may happen to be becoming.
Clearly.
And so the one, when in becoming older it reaches the
present, ceases to become, and is then older.
Certainly.
G 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
84
The relation of the one to itself,
Par-
menides.
Parmbnides,
Abisto-
TELES.
and also
younger.
It always
is and
becomes
older and
younger
than itself ;
and since it
is and be-
comes
during the
same time
with itself is
of the same
age, and
therefore
neither
older nor
younger
than itself.
Is the one
younger or
older than
other
things ?
The less
comes into
being
before the
greater:
the one is
less than
the many
or others,
and there-
fore comes
into being
before them
and is older
than they.
And it is older than that than which it was becoming older,
and it was becoming older than itself.
Yes.
And that which is older is older than that which is
younger ?
True.
Then the one is younger than itself, when in becoming
older it reaches the present ?
Certainly.
But the present is always present with the one during all
its being ; for whenever it is it is always now.
Certainly.
Then the one always both is and becomes older and
younger than itself?
Truly.
And is it or does it become a longer time than itself or
an equal time with itself?
An equal time.
But if it becomes or is for an equal time with itself, it is
of the same age with itself?
Of course.
And that which is of the same age, is neither older nor
younger ?
No.
The one, then, becoming and being the same time with
itself, neither is nor becomes older or younger than itself?
I should say not.
And what are its relations to other things ? Is it or does
it become older or younger than they ?
I cannot tell you.
You can at least tell me that others than the one are more
than the one— other would have been one, but the others
have multitude, and are more than one ?
They will have multitude.
And a multitude implies a number larger than one ?
Of course.
And shall we say that the lesser or the greater is the first
to come or to have come into existence ?
The lesser.
Then the least is the first ? And that is the one ?
153
Digitized by VjOOQIC
and to others. 85
Yes. P^r
Then the one of all things that have number is the first to '"'^
come into being ; but all other things have also number, being ^^^J^'^"**
plural and not singular. ''^"•■**
They have.
And since it came into being first it must be supposed to
have come into being prior to the others, and the others later;
and the things which came into being later, are younger than
that which preceded them ? And so the other things will
be younger than the one, and the one older than other
things ?
True.
What would you say of another question ? Can the one
have come into being contrary to its own nature, or is that
impossible ?
Impossible.
And yet, surely, the one was shown to have parts ; and The one
if parts, then a beginning, middle and end? ^^rnes
Yes. into being
And a beginning, both of the one itself and of all other "^^^
things, comes into being first of all ; and after the beginning, them :
the others follow, until you reach the end ?
Certainly.
And all these others we shall affirm to be parts of the
whole and of the one, which, as soon as the end is reached,
has become whole and one ?
Yes ; that is what we shall say.
But the end comes last, and the one is of such a nature as and there-
to come into being with the last ; and, since the one cannot y°™^
come into being except in accordance with its own nature, than the
its nature will require that it should come into being after ^^^^^^
the others, simultaneously with the end. each part
Clearly.
Then the one is younger than the others and the others
older than the one.
That also is clear in my judgment.
Well, and must not a beginning or any other part of the
one or of anything, if it be a part and not parts, being a part,
be also of necessity one ?
Certainly.
IS one,
Digitized by VjOOQIC
86
New perplexities.
Par-
menides,
Parmenides,
AkISTO'
TCLES.
and one
comes into
being
together
with each
part, and
so the one
is neither
older nor
younger
than the
others but
coeval.
Again, no-
thing can
become
older or
younger
than it was
at first in
relation to
something
else, if an
equal
amount of
time be
added to
both.
This is true
of the one
and the
other.
And will not the one come into being together with each
part— together with the first part when that comes into being,
and together with the second part and with all the rest, and
will not be wanting to any part, which is added to any other
part until it has reached the last and become one whole ; it
will be wanting neither to the middle, nor to the first, nor to
the last, nor to any of them, while the process of becoming
is going on ?
True.
Then the one is of the same age with all the others, so that
if the one itself does not contradict its own nature, it will be
neither prior nor posterior to the others, but simultaneous ;
and according to this argument the one will be neither older 154
nor younger than the others, nor the others than the one, but
according to the previous argument the one will be older and
younger than the others and the others than the one.
Certainly.
After this manner then the one is and has become. But
as to its becoming older and younger than the others, and
the others than the one, and neither older nor younger, what
shall we say ? Shall we say as of being so also of becoming,
or otherwise ?
I cannot answer.
But I can venture to say, that even if one thing were older
or younger than another, it could not become older or younger
in a greater degree than it was at first ; for equals added to
unequals, whether to periods of time or to anything else,
leave the difference between them the same as at first.
Of course.
Then that which is, cannot become older or younger than
that which is, since the difference of age is always the same ;
the one is and has become older and the other younger ; but
they are no longer becoming so.
True.
And the one which is does not therefore become either
older or younger than the others which are.
No.
But consider whether they may not become older and
younger in another way.
In what way?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Perplexities on perplexities.
Just as the one was proven to be older than the others ^^f-
and the others than the one. mtnides.
And what of that ? arI^'''"'
If the one is older than the others, it has come into being ""«•
a longer time than the others.
Yes.
But consider again ; if we add equal time to a greater and But if an
a less time, will the greater differ from the less time by an ^^^j^*
equal or by a smaller portion than before ? to a greater
By a smaller portion. fhe'^rl^tive
Then the difference between the age of the one and the diflference
age of the others will not be aflerwards so great as at first, *f ^^^^'^
but if an equal time be added to both of them they will differ diminishes ;
less and less in age ? and so the
w . one, which
J^es. is older.
And that which differs in age from some other less than wiUbysuch
formerly, from being older will become younger in relation become
to that other than which it was older ? younger
•KT than the
Yes, younger. ^^^ers.
And if the one becomes younger the others aforesaid will and they
become older than they were before, in relation to the one. ^^\^
Certainly. than it.
Then that which had become younger becomes older rela-
tively to that which previously had become and was older ;
155 it never really is older, but is always becoming, for the one
is always growing on the side of youth and the other on the
side of age. And in like manner the older is always in
process of becoming younger than the younger ; for as they
are always going in opposite directions they become in ways
the opposite to one another, the younger older than the
older, and the older younger than the younger. They
cannot, however, have become ; for if they had already
become they would be and not merely become. But that
is impossible ; for they are always becoming both older and
younger than one another : the one becomes younger than
the others because it was seen to be older and prior, and the
others become older than the one because they came into
being later ; and in the same way the others are in the same
relation to the one, because they were seen to be older and
prior to the one.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
88
Par-
nunides.
Parmbmidbs,
Aristo-
TBLBS.
Summary of contradictions.
That is clear.
Inasmuch then, as one thing does not become older or
younger than another, in that they always differ from each
other by an equal number, the one cannot become older
or younger than the others, nor the others than the one;
but inasmuch as that which came into being earlier and that
which came into being later must continually differ from
each other by a different portion — in this point of view the
others must become older and younger than the one, and
the one than the others.
Certainly.
For all these reasons, then, the one is and becomes older
and younger than itself and the others, and neither is nor
becomes older or younger than itself or the others.
Certainly.
But since the one partakes of time, and partakes of
becoming older and younger, must it not also partake of
the past, the present, and the future ?
Of course it must.
Then the one was and is and will be, and was becoming
and is becoming and will become ?
Certainly.
And there is and was and will be something which is in
relation to it and belongs to it ?
True.
And since we have at this moment opinion and knowledge
and perception of the one, there is opinion and knowledge
and perception of it ?
Quite right.
Then there is name and expression for it, and it is named
and expressed, and everything of this kind which appertains
to other things appertains to the one.
Certainly, that is true.
Opposites Yet once more and for the third time, let us consider : If
mdteaSi ^^ ^"^ ^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^^^ many, as we have described, and is
of the same neither ene nor many, and participates in time, must it not, in
sameUme* ^ ^^^ ^^ ** ^^ ^^^^ ^' times partake of being, and in as far as
it is not one, at times not partake of being ?
Certainly.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The nature of change. 89
But can it partake of being when not partaking of being, or Par-
not partake of being when partaking of being ? menidts.
Impossible. Paiuikhidk,
* Aristo-
take place?
Then the one partakes and does not partake of being at
different times, for that is the only way in which it can The one
partake and not partake of the same. ?^*"* ^*^*^-
«, fore par-
True, take of
156 And is there not also a time at which it assumes being and being and
relinquishes being — for how can it have and not have the and assume
same thing unless it receives and also gives it up at some *»** r*^™-
^ quish them
""^e i at different
Impossible. r^saxA.
And the assuming of being is what you would call
becoming ?
I should.
And the relinquishing of being you would call destruction ? How does
Ishould> 1V^«
The one then, as would appear, becomes and is destroyed
by taking and giving up being.
Certainly.
And being one and many and in process of becoming and
being destroyed, when it becomes one it ceases to be many,
and when many, it ceases to be one ?
Certainly.
And as it becomes one and many, must it not inevitably
experience separation and aggregation ?
Inevitably.
And whenever it becomes like and unlike it must be assimi-
lated and dissimilated ?
Yes.
And when it becomes greater or less or equal it must grow
or diminish or be equalized ?
True.
And when being in motion it rests, and when being at rest
it changes to motion, it can surely be in no time at all ?
How can it?
But that a thing which is previously at rest should be
afterwards in motion, or previously in motion and afterwards
at rest, without experiencing change, is impossible.
Impossible.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
go
The Moment.
Par-
menides.
Pakmenidbs,
Aristo-
TELES.
As the one
is always
partaking
of one of
two oppo-
sites. the
transition
takes place
in a mo-
ment.
Nature
of the
moment.
And surely there cannot be a time in which a thing can be
at once neither in motion nor at rest ?
There cannot.
But neither can it change without changing.
True.
When then does it change ; for it cannot change either
when at rest, or when in motion, or when in time ?
It cannot.
And does this strange thing in which it is at the time
of changing really exist ?
What thing ?
The moment. For the moment seems to imply a some-
thing out of which change takes place into either of two
states ; for the change is not from the state of rest as such,
nor from the state of motion as such ; but there is this
curious nature which we call the moment lying between rest
and motion, not being in any time ; and into this and out of
this what is in motion changes into rest, and what is at rest
into motion.
So it appears.
And the one then, since it is at rest and also in motion,
will change to either, for only in this way can it be in both.
And in changing it changes in a moment, and when it is
changing it will be in no time, and will not then be either in
motion or at rest.
It will not.
And it will be in the same case in relation to the other 157
changes, when it passes from being into cessation of being,
or from not-being into becoming— then it passes between
certain states of motion and rest, and neither is nor is not,
nor becomes nor is destroyed.
Very true.
And on the same principle, in the passage from one to
many and from many to one, the one is neither one nor
many, neither separated nor aggregated ; and in the passage
from like to unlike, and from unlike to like, it is neither
like nor unlike, neither in a state of assimilation nor of dis-
similation ; and in the passage from small to great and equal
and back again, it will be neither small nor great, nor equal,
nor in a state of increase, or diminution, or equalization.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
If one is, how will the others be affected ? 9 \
True. /'tff-
All these, then, are the aflfections of the one, if the one has ^^ ^*
being. P^--".
Of course. "les.
i. aa. But if one is, what will happen to the others—is not The
that also to be considered ? aff^iions
of the
Yes. others, if
Let US show then, if one is, what will be the affections of ^**® ®"® **•
the others than the one.
Let us do so.
Inasmuch as there are things other than the one, the Things
others are not the one ; for if they were they could not be ^^^^ ^^"
, , , one are
other than the one. not the one,
Very true. *"^ y«*
Nor are the others altogether without the one, but in a tidpatein
certain way they participate in the one. the one ;
In what way? o°th^^are
Because the others are other than the one inasmuch as parts of a
they have parts; for if they had no parts they would be ^^^J^is
simply one. one.
Right.
And parts, as we affirm, have relation to a whole ?
So we say.
And a whole must necessarily be one made up of many ;
and the parts will be parts of the one, for each of the parts
is not a part of many, but of a whole.
How do you mean ?
If anything were a part of many, being itself one of them,
it will surely be a part of itself, which is impossible, and it
will be a part of each one of the other parts, if of all ; for
if not a part of some one, it will be a part of all the others
but this one, and thus will not be a part of each one ; and if
not a part of each one, it will not be a part of any one
of the many ; and not being a part of any one, it cannot
be a part or anything else of all those things of none of
which it is anything.
Clearly not.
Then the part is not a part of the many, nor of all, but is
of a certain single form, which we call a whole, being one
Digitized by VjOOQIC
92
The others than the one are infinite in number.
Par-
nunides,
Parmbnidks,
Abisto-
TBLE8.
Again, each
part is not
only apart
but also a
perfect
whole in
itself.
The whole
and the
part are
both one.
and there-
fore they
must par-
ticipate in
the one
and be
other than
the one,
and more
than one
and infinite
in number.
perfect unity framed out of all — of this the part will be a
part.
Certainly.
If, then, the others have parts, they will participate in the
whole and in the one.
True.
Then the others than the one must be one perfect whole,
having parts.
Certainly.
And the same argument holds of each part, for the part
must participate in the one; for if each of the parts is a part, 158
this means, I suppose, that it is one separate from the rest
and self-related ; otherwise it is not each.
True.
But when we speak of the part participating in the one, it
must clearly be other than one; for if not, it would not
merely have participated, but would have been one; whereas
only the one itself can be one.
Very true.
Both the whole and the part must participate in the one ;
for the whole will be one whole, of which the parts will be
parts ; and each part will be one part of the whole which is
the whole of the part.
True.
And will not the things which participate in the one, be
other than it ?
Of course.
And the things which are other than the one will be many;
for if the things which are other than the one were neither
one nor more than one, they would be nothing.
True.
But, seeing that the things which participate in the one as
a part, and in the one as a whole, are more than one, must
not those very things which participate in the one be infinite
in number?
How so?
Let us look at the matter thus: — Is it not a fact that
in partaking of the one they are not one, and do not par-
take of the one at the very time when they are partaking
of it?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Contradictory aspects of the others. 93
Clearly. Par-
They do so then as multitudes in which the one is not ^'*^^^^'
present ? Pa«.enidbs.
Very true. teles.
And if we were to abstract from them in idea the very
smallest fraction, must not that least fraction, if it does not
partake of the one, be a multitude and not one ?
It must.
And if we continue to look at the other side of their nature, The others
regarded simply, and in itself, will not they, as far as we see "»^™j*«<*
. , ..... , »% andalso
them, be unlimited m number ? Umitcd in
Certainly. ^«*>"
And yet, when each several part becomes a part, then the
parts have a limit in relation to the whole and to each other,
and the whole in relation to the parts.
Just so.
The result to the others than the one is that the union of
themselves and the one appears to create a new element in
them which gives to them limitation in relation to one
another; whereas in their own nature they have no limit.
That is clear.
Then the others than the one, both as whole and parts, both as
are infinite, and also partake of limit. J^* *°
Certainly.
Then they are both like and unlike one another and Wherefore
themselves. "^^^^
How is that ? and unlike.
Inasmuch as they are unlimited in their own nature, they
are all affected in the same way.
True.
And inasmuch as they all partake of limit, they are all
affected in the same way.
Of course.
But inasmuch as their state is both limited and unlimited,
they are affected in opposite ways.
Yes.
159 And opposites are the most unlike of things.
Certainly.
Considered, then, in regard to either one of their affections,
they will be like themselves and one another ; considered in
Digitized by VjOOQIC
94
An opposite set of consequences.
Par-
nunides,
Parmenidks,
Aristo-
TRLRS.
reference to both of them together, most opposed and most
unlike.
That appears to be true.
Then the others are both like and unlike themselves and
one another?
True.
And they are the same and also different from one another,
and in motion and at rest, and experience every sort of
opposite affection, as may be proved without diflBculty of
them, since they have been shown to have experienced the
affections aforesaid ?
True.
A reversal
of former
conclu-
sions.
One and
the others
are never
in the
same, for
there is
nothing
outside
them in
which they
can jointly
partake,
and there-
fore
they must
be always
distinct.
i. bb. Suppose, now, that we leave the further discussion
of these matters as evident, and consider again upon the
hypothesis that the one is, whether the opposite of all this is
or is not equally true of the others.
By all means.
Then let us begin again, and ask. If one is, what must be
the affections of the others ?
Let us ask that question.
Must not the one be distinct from the others, and the
others from the one ?
Why so ?
Why, because there is nothing else beside them which is
distinct from both of them ; for the expression ' one and the
others ' includes all things.
Yes, all things.
Then we cannot suppose that there is anything different
from them in which both the one and the others might exist ?
There is nothing.
Then the one and the others are never in the same ?
True.
Then they are separated from each other ?
Yes.
And we surely cannot say that what is truly one has parts ?
Impossible.
Then the one will not be in the others as a whole, nor
as part, if it be separated from the others, and has no parts ?
Impossible.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The one all things, and also nothing, 95
Then there is no way in which the others can partake of Par-
the one, if they do not partake either in whole or in part ? **^
It would seem not. Ir^'™'
Then there is no way in which the others are one, or have t"*-*^*
in themselves any unity ?
There is not.
Nor are the others many ; for if they were many, each part And the
of them would be a part of the whole ; but now the others, ^^
not partaking in any way of the one, are neither one nor separated
many, nor whole, nor part. ^"^ ^^^
•' ' ' ^ one cannot
True. be either
Then the others neither are nor contain two or three, if one or
entirely deprived of the one ?
True.
Then the others are neither like nor unlike the one, nor is Nor can
likeness and unlikeness in them ; for if they were like and ^^^ ^
unlike, or had in them likeness and unlikeness, they would for they
have two natures in them opposite to one another. cannot
'ri ^ • 1 partake of
That IS Clear. two things if
But for that which partakes of nothing to partake of two they cannot
things was held by us to be impossible ? ^^^
Impossible.
160 Then the others are neither like nor unlike nor both, for if The others
they were like or unlike they would partake of one of those ^|!*l"o****
two natures, which would be one thing, and if they were
both they would partake of opposites which would be two
things, and this has been shown to be impossible.
True.
Therefore they are neither the same, nor other, nor in
motion, nor at rest, nor in a state of becoming, nor of being
destroyed, nor greater, nor less, nor equal, nor have they
experienced an3rthing else of the sort; for, if they are
capable of experiencing any such affection, they will partici-
pate in one and two and three, and odd and even, and in
these, as has been proved, they do not participate, seeing
that they are altogether and in every way devoid of the one.
Very true. ^1"-- »
Therefore if one is, the one is all things, and also nothing, but also
both in relation to itself and to other things. "^^^^"^
Certamly. 142).
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96
The one which is not differs from all other things.
Par-
menides.
Parmbnidbs,
Aristo-
TBLES.
If the one
is not, what
then?
What is the
meaning of
' the one
which is
not'?
It some-
times means
other than
or different
from other
things ;
and there-
fore has
difference,
etc.
ii. a. Well, and ought we not to consider next what will
be the consequence if the one is not?
Yes ; we ought.
What is the meaning of the hypothesis — If the one is not ;
is there any difference between this and the hypothesis — If
the not one is not ?
There is a difference, certainly.
Is there a difference only, or rather are not the two
expressions— if the one is not, and if the not one is not,
entirely opposed ?
They are entirely opposed.
And suppose a person to say: — If greatness is not, if
smallness is not, or anything of that sort, does he not mean,
whenever he uses such an expression, that * what is not ' is
other than other things ?
To be sure.
And so when he says ' If one is not' he clearly means,
that what ' is not ' is other than all others ; we know what he
means — do we not ?
Yes, we do.
When he says ' one,' he says something which is known ;
and secondly something which is other than all other things ;
it makes no difference whether he predicate of one being or
not-being, for that which is said ' not to be ' is known to be
something all the same, and is distinguished from other things.
Certainly.
Then I will begin again, and ask : If one is not, what are
the consequences? In the first place, as would appear,
there is a knowledge of it, or the very meaning of the words,
* if one is not/ would not be known.
True.
Secondly, the others differ from it, or it could not be
described as different from the others ?
Certainly.
Difference, then, belongs to it as well as knowledge ; for
in speaking of the one as different from the others, we do
not speak of a difference in the others, but in the one.
Clearly so.
Moreover, the one that is not is something and partakes of
relation to ' that,' and ' this,' and ' these,' and the like, and is an
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The one which is not, is both like and unlike, 97
attribute of ' this ' ; for the one, or the others than the one, Par-
could not have been spoken of, nor could any attribute or ^^*^**^^'
relative of the one that is not have been or been spoken .p^»*«kn«d=».
^ Akisto-
of, nor could it have been said to be anything, if it did tel«s.
not partake of 'some,* or of the other relations just now
mentioned.
True.
Being; then, cannot be ascribed to the one, since it is not ;
161 but the one that is not may or rather must participate in
many things, if it and nothing else is not; if, however,
neither the one nor the one that is not is supposed not to
be, and we are speaking of something of a different nature,
we can predicate nothing of it. But supposing that the one
that is not and nothing else is not, then it must participate
in the predicate 'that,' and in many others.
Certainly.
And it will have unlikeness in relation to the others, for the it is unlike
others being different from the one will be of a different kind, ^^^mim '
Certainly. therefore
And are not things of a different kind also other in kind ? *>*v« ^i^^
^ ness to
Of course. itself.
And are not things other in kind unlike ?
They are unlike.
And if they are unlike the one, that which they are unlike
will clearly be unlike them ?
Clearly so.
Then the one will have unlikeness in respect of which the
others are unlike it ?
That would seem to be true.
And if unlikeness to other things is attributed to it, it must
have likeness to itself.
How so ?
If the one have unlikeness to one, something else must
be meant ; nor will the hypothesis relate to one ; but it will
relate to something other than one ?
Quite so.
But that cannot be.
No.
Then the one must have likeness to itself?
It must
VOL. IV. H
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98
Par-
menidts.
PARMENIDRSt
Abisto-
TBLES.
The one
which is
not is
unequal to
the others
and the
others
to it.
But partak-
ing of in-
equality, it
partakes
also of
greatness
and small-
ness, and
therefore
of equality
which lies
between
them ;
it must
surely par-
take of
being in a
sense;
// is unequal; and also equal.
Again, it is not equal to the others ; for if it were equal, then
it would at once be and be like them in virtue of the equality ;
. but if one has no being, then it can neither be nor be like?
It cannot.
But since it is not equal to the others, neither can the
others be equal to it ?
Certainly not.
And things that are not equal are unequal ?
True.
And they are unequal to an unequal ?
Of course.
Then the one partakes of inequality, and in respect of this
the others are unequal to it ?
Very true.
And inequality implies greatness and smallness ?
Yes.
Then the one, if of such a nature, has greatness and
smallness ?
That appears to be true.
And greatness and smallness always stand apart ?
True.
Then there is always something between them ?
There is.
And can you think of anything else which is between them
other than equality ?
No, it is equality which lies between them.
Then that which has greatness and smallness also has
equality, which lies between them ?
That is clear.
Then the one, which is not, partakes, as would appear, of
greatness and smallness and equality ?
Clearly.
Further, it must surely in a sort partake of being ?
How so?
It must be so, for if not, then we should not speak the
truth in saying that the one is not. But if we speak the
truth, clearly we must say what is. Am I not right ?
Yes. ,63
And since we aiGrm that we speak truly, we must also
affirm that we say what is ?
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The one which is not also is. 99
Certainly. Par-
Then, as would appear, the one, when it is not, is ; for if ^'*^^^'
it were not to be when it is not but* were to relinquish Parmwides,
something of being, so as to become not-being, it would at tei.«»-
once be. for not-
Quite true. *T- "^>i""
^ plies being
Then the one which is not, if it is to maintain itself, must and bdng
have the being of not-being as the bond of not-being, just as |j^?J*^ °**'"
being must have as a bond the not-being of not-being in
order to perfect its own being.; for the truest assertion of the
being of being and of the not-being of not-being is when
being partakes of the being of being, and not of the being of
not-being — that is, the perfection of being ; and when not-
being does not partake of the not-being of not-being but of
the being of not-being — that is the perfection of not-being.
Most true.
Since then what is partakes of not-being, and what is not
of being, must not the one also partake of being in order not
to be?
Certainly.
Then the one, if it is not, clearly has being ?
Clearly.
And has not-being also, if it is not ?
Of course.
But can anything which is in a certain state not be in that But to be
state without changing ? ^'^' *'
Impossible. change
Then everything which is and is not in a certain state, ^">™o«»e
. y* x^ -^ ' to the
implies change t other, and
Certainly. therefore be
And change is motion — we may say that ? "*
Yes, motion.
And the one has been proved both to be and not to be ?
Yes.
And therefore is and is not in the same state ?
Yes.
Thus the one that is not has been shown to have motion
also, because it changes from being to not-being ?
* Or, * to remit something of existence in relation to not-being.'
H2 -^^*, -..'
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lOO
// is both in motion and at rest.
Par-
menidcs.
Parmenidbs,
Aristo-
TBLE8.
How can
it change ?
Not (a) by
change of
place, nor
{b) by re-
volving in
the same
place.
nor (c) by
change of
nature.
It is there-
fore un-
moved ;
and being
unmoved,
it must be
at rest.
But motion
implies
alteration.
That appears to be true.
But surely if it is nowhere among what is, as is the fact,
since it is not, it cannot change from one place to another ?
Impossible.
Then it cannot move by changing place ?
No.
Nor can it turn on the same spot, for it nowhere touches
the same, for the same is, and that which is not cannot be
reckoned among things that are ?
It cannot.
Then the one, if it is not, cannot turn in that in which it is
not?
No.
Neither can the one, whether it is or is not, be altered into
other than itself, for if it altered and became different from
itself, then we could not be still speaking of the one, but of
something else ?
True.
But if the one neither suffers alteration, nor turns round
in the same place, nor changes place, can it still be capable
of motion ?
Impossible.
Now that which is unmoved must surely be at rest, and
that which is at rest must stand still ?
Certainly.
Then the one that is not, stands still, and is also in motion ?
That seems to be true.
But if it be in motion it must necessarily undergo altera-
tion, for anything which is moved, in so far as it is moved, is 163
no longer in the same state, but in another ?
Yes.
Then the one, being moved, is altered ?
Yes.
And, further, if not moved in any way, it will not be altered
in any way ?
No.
Then, in so far as the one that is not is moved, it is
altered, but in so far as it is not moved, it is not altered ?
Right.
Then the one that is not is altered and is not altered ?
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If the one is noiy it is nothing and nowhere. loi
That is clear. Par-
And must not that which is altered become other than it '*^*^^-
previously was, and lose its former state and be destroyed ; p*"*"**"*".
but that which is not altered can neither come into being tklk.
nor be destroyed ? The one
Very true. l!^'"'"^'
A 1 1 • t • becomes
And the one that is not, being altered, becomes and is and is
destroyed: and not being altered, neither becomes nor is ^^^y^*
, , , . 1 . « . . and neither
destroyed ; and so the one that is not becomes and is becomes
destroyed, and neither becomes nor is destroyed? "oris
rjs destroyed.
ii. b. And now, let us go back once more to the beginning,
and see whether these or some other consequences will follow.
Let us do as you say.
If one is not, we ask what will happen in respect of one? if one is
That is the question. S^^*'
Yes.
Do not the words ' is not ' signify absence of being in that ' is not'
to which we apply them ? implies
- absence of
Just SO. bein^finthe
And when we say that a thing is not, do we mean that mostabso-
. . . ■ . • • ^* »> J lute sense.
It IS not m one way but is in another r or do we mean,
absolutely, that what is not has in no sort or way or kind
participation of being ?
Quite absolutely.
Then, that which is not cannot be, or in ^y way partici-
pate in being ?
It cannot.
And did we not mean by becoming, and being destroyed. The one
the assumption of being and the loss of being? ^'^"^^ ''
XT .L- 1 not cannot
Nothing else. either have
And can that which has no participation in being, either ^^ *<»« or
, t • '^ assume
assume or lose being ? being,
Impossible.
The one then, since it in no way is, cannot have or lose or
assume being in any way ?
True.
Then the one that is not, since it in no way partakes of
being, neither perishes nor becomes ?
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I02
Nothing can be predicated of it.
Par-
menides,
Pakmenioes,
Aristo>
TELES.
nor be
altered
nor be in
motion,
nor yet at
rest.
It has no
attributes
and no
conditions
of any
kind.
No.
Then it is not altered at all ; for if it were it would become
and be destroyed ?
True.
But if it be not altered it cannot be moved ?
Certainly not.
Nor can we say that it stands, if it is nowhere ; for
that which stands must always be in one and the same
spot?
Of course.
Then we must say that the one which is not never stands
still and never moves ?
Neither.
Nor is there any existing thing which can be attributed to
it ; for if there had been, it would partake of being ?
That is clear.
And therefore neither smallness, nor greatness, nor equality,
can be attributed to it ?
No.
Nor yet likeness nor difference, either in relation to itself
or to others ?
Clearly not.
Well, and if nothing should be attributed to it, can other
things be attributed to it ?
Certainly not.
And therefore other things can neither be like or unlike,
the same, or different in relation to it ?
They cannot.
Nor can what is not, be anything, or be this thing, or be
related to or the attribute of this or that or other, or be past,
present, or future. Nor can knowledge, or opinion, or per-
ception, or expression, or name, or any other thing that is,
have any concern with it ?
No.
Then the one that is not has no condition of any kind ?
Such appears to be the conclusion.
164
Again. If jj ^^ Yet once more ; if one is not, what becomes of the
one IS not, ;
what Others ? Let us determine that,
happens to Yes ; let us determine that.
the others ? '
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The spectre of'ane^ still haunts us, 103
The others must surely be ; for if they, like the one, were Par-
not, we could not be now speaking of them. mtnides.
True. parmbkidbs.
But to speak of the others implies difference — the terms teles.
' other ' and ' different ' are synonymous ?
True.
Other means other than other, and different, different from Other
the different? '^^.
Yes. it cannot
Then, if there are to be others, there is something than JS^^J^**"
which they will be other ? ' one ; and
Certainly. SnthTrs
And what can that be ? — for if the one is not, they will not are other
be other than the one. ^'^^ «^*>
They will not. ^ "'
Then they will be other than each other; for the only
remaining alternative is that they are other than nothing.
True.
And they are each other than one another, as being plural and each
and not singular ; for if one is not, they cannot be singular, ^ ^^'
but every particle of them is infinite in number ; and even if devoid of
a person takes that which appears to be the smallest fraction, ^^ °"*'
, . , . , , . • . appears to
this, which seemed one, in a moment evanesces into many, be one.
as in a dream, and from being the smallest becomes very
great, in comparison with the fractions into which it is
split up?
Very true.
And in such particles the others will be other than one
another, if others are, and the one is not ?
Exactly.
And will there not be many particles, each appearing to be
one, but not being one, if one is not ?
True.
And it would seem that number can be predicated of them
if 6ach of them appears to be one, though it is really many ?
Itx:an.
And there will seem to be odd and even among them,
which WHl also have no reality, if one is not ?
Yes.
And there will appear to be a least among them ; and even
Digitized by VjOOQIC
I04
Conception of a particle without unity.
Par-
mtnides.
Parmbnidbs,
Aristo>
TSLES.
When seen
at a
distance
the others
appear to
be one;
when near,
many and
infinite.
this will seem large and manifold in comparison with the 165
many small fractions which are contained in it ?
Certainly.
And each particle will be imagined to be equal to the many
and little; for it could not have appeared to pass from the
greater to the less without having appeared to arrive at the
middle ; and thus would arise the appearance of equality.
Yes.
And having neither beginning, middle, nor end, each
separate particle yet appears to have a limit in relation to
itself and other.
How so ?
Because, when a person conceives of any one of these as
such, prior to the beginning another beginning appears, and
there is another end, remaining after the end, and in the
middle truer middles within but smaller, because no unity can
be conceived of any of them, since the one is not.
Very true.
And so all being; whatever we think of, must be broken up
into fractions, for a particle will have to be conceived of
without unity ?
Certainly.
And such being when seerf indistinctly and at a distance,
appears to be one ; but when seen near and with keen intel-
lect, every single thing appears to be infinite, since it is
deprived of the one, which is not ?
Nothing more certain.
Then each of the others must appear to be infinite and
finite, and one and many, if others than the one exist and not
the one.
They must.
Then will they not appear to be like and unlike ?
In what way?
Just as in a picture things appear to be all one to a person
standing at a distance, and to be in the same state and alike ?
True.
But when you approach them, they appear to be many
and different ; and because of the appearance of the differ-
ence, different in kind from, and unlike, themselves ?
True.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
If the one is not, the others are neither one nor many. 105
And so must the particles appear to be like and unlike Par-
themselves and each other. memdes.
Certainly. IkI^''*"'
And must they not be the same and yet different from teles.
one another, and in contact with themselves, although they
are separated, and having every sort of motion, and every
sort of rest, and becoming and being destroyed, and in
neither state, and the like, all which things may be easily
enumerated, if the one is not and the many are?
Most true.
ii. bb. Once more, let us go back to the beginning, and if one is
ask if the one is not, and the others of the one are, what Jl?^ ^
tnc others
Will follow. are, what
Let US ask that question. ^^^'^ '"*«
In the first place, the others will not be one ? not one
Impossible. ^^^ ^^^^
Nor will they be many; for if they were many one many.
would be contained in them. But if no one of them is
one, all of them are nought, and therefore they will not be
many.
True.
If there be no one in the others, the others are neither
many nor one.
166 They are not.
Nor do they appear either as one or many. Again, if
Why not? the others
•^ appear to
Because the others have no sort or manner or way of com- be one or
munion with any sort of not-being; nor can anything which is ™^y.they
not, be connected with any of the others ; for that which is some sense
not has no parts. P*^5 ^^
not-being ;
True. but this is
Nor is there an opinion or any appearance of not-being in "^^^^^
connexion with the others, nor is not-being ever in any way
attributed to the others.
No.
Then if one is not, there is no conception of any of the
others either as one or many ; for you cannot conceive the
many without the one.
You cannot.
case.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
1 o6 The conclusion of the whole matter.
Par- Then if one is not, the others neither are, nor can be con-
tttenides, ceived to be either one or many ?
Pawienides, It would seem not.
TBLEs. Nor as like or unlike ?
No.
Nor are Nor as the same or different, nor in contact or separation,
they like j^^j. j^ ^^y of those States which we enumerated as appearing
or unlike, , f , . , . r i
the same or to be ;— the Others neither are nor appear to be any of these,
diflferent if one is not ?
True.
Then may we not sum up the argument in a word and say
truly : If one is not, then nothing is ?
Certainly.
Let thus much be said ; and further let us affirm what
seems to be the truth, that, whether one is or is not, one
and the others in relation to themselves and one another,
all of them, in every way, are and are not, and appear to be
and appear not to be.
Most true.
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THEAETETUS.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Digitized by VjOOQIC
TION.
INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.
Some dialogues of Plato are of so various a character that their Theaeteius,
relation to the other dialogues cannot be determined with any Introduc
degree of certainty. The Theaetetus, like the Parmenides, has
points of similarity both with his earlier and his later writings. The
perfection of style, the humour, the dramatic interest, the com-
plexity of structure, the fertility of illustration, the shifting of the
points of view, are characteristic of his best period of authorship.
The vain search, the negative conclusion, the figure of the mid-
wives, the constant profession of ignorance on the part of Socrates,
also bear the stamp of the early dialogues, in which the original
Socrates is not yet Platonized. Had we no other indications, we
should be disposed to range the Theaetetus with the Apology and
the Phaedrus, and perhaps even with the Protagoras and the
Laches.
But when we pass from the style to an examination of the
subject, we trace a connexion with the later rather than with the
earlier dialogues. In the first place there is the connexion, indi-
cated by Plato himself at the end of the dialogue, with the Sophist,
to which in many respects the Theaetetus is so little akin, (i) The
same persons reappear, including the younger Socrates, whose
name is just mentioned in the Theaetetus (147 C) ; (2) the theory of
rest, which at p. 133 D Socrates has declined to consider, is resumed
by the Eleatic Stranger ; (3) there is a similar allusion in both dia-
logues to the meeting of Parmenides and Socrates (Theaet. 183 E,
Soph. 217) ; and (4) the inquiry into not-being in the Sophist
supplements the question of false opinion which is raised in the
Theaetetus. (Compare also Theaet. 168 A, 210, and Soph, ^o B ;
Theaet 174 D, E, and Soph. 227 A; Theaet. 188 E, and Soph.
237 D ; Theaet. 179 A, and Soph. 233 B ; Theaet. 172 D, Soph. 253 C,
for parallel turns of thought.) Secondly, the later date of the
Digitized by VjOOQIC
no Date of the Dialogue uncertain.
Theaetetus. dialogue is confirmed by the absence of the doctrine of recollection
Imtroduc- and of any doctrine of ideas except that which derives them from
generalization and from reflection of the mind upon itself. The
general character of the Theaetetus is dialectical, and there are
traces of the same Megarian influences which appear in the
Parmenides, and which later writers, in their matter of fact way,
have explained by the residence of Plato at Megara. Socrates
disclaims the character of a professional eristic (164 C),and also,
with a sort of ironical admiration, expresses his inability to attain
the Megarian precision in the use of terms (197 A). Yet he too
employs a similar sophistical skill in overturning every conceiv-
able theory of knowledge.
The direct indications of a date amount to no more than this :
the conversation is said to have taken place when Theaetetus was
a youth, and shortly before the death of Socrates. At the time of
his own death he is supposed to be a full-grown man. Allowing
nine or ten years for the interval between youth and manhood, the
dialogue could not have been written earlier than 390, when Plato
was about thirty-nine years of age. No more definite date is indi-
cated by the engagement in which Theaetetus is said to have fallen
or to have been wounded, and which may have taken place any
time during the Corinthian war, between the years 390-387. The
later date which has been suggested, 369, when the Athenians and
Lacedaemonians disputed the Isthmus with Epaminondas, would
make the age of Theaetetus at his death forty-five or forty-six.
This a little impairs the beauty of Socrates' remark, that * he would
be a great man if he lived.*
In this uncertainty about the place of the Theaetetus, it seemed
better, as in the case of the Republic, Timaeus, Critias, to retain
the order in which Plato himself has arranged this and the two
companion dialogues. We cannot exclude the possibility which
has been already noticed in reference to other works of Plato, that
the Theaetetus may not have been all written continuously ; or the
probability that the Sophist and Politicus, which differ greatly in
style, were only appended after a long interval of time. The
allusion to Parmenides at 183, compared with Sophist 217, would
probably imply that the dialogue which is called by his name was
already in existence; unless, indeed, we suppose the passage
in which the allusion occurs to have been inserted afterwards.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Better retained where Plato placed it. 1 1 1
Again, the Theaetetus may be connected with the Gorgias, either Theaetetus.
dialogue from different points of view containing an analysis of the Intvoduc-
real and apparent (Schleiermacher) ; and both may be brought
into relation with the Apology as illustrating the personal life of
Socrates. The Philebus, too, may with equal reason be placed
either after or before what, in the language of Thrasyllus, may be
called the Second Platonic Trilogy. Both the Parmenides and the
Sophist, and still more the Theaetetus, have points of affinity with
the Cratylus, in which the principles of rest and motion are again
contrasted, and the Sophistical or Protagorean theory of language
is opposed to that which is attributed to the disciple of Heracleitus,
not to speak of lesser resemblances in thought and language. The
Parmenides, again, has been thought by some to hold an inter-
mediate position between the Theaetetus and the Sophist ; upon
this view, Soph. 250 foil, may be regarded as the answer to the
problems about One and Being which have been raised in the
Parmenides. Any of these arrangements may suggest new views
to the student of Plato ; none of them can lay claim to an exclusive
probability in its favour.
The Theaetetus is one of the narrated dialogues of Plato, and is
the only one which is supposed to have been written down. In a
short introductory scene, Euclides and Terpsion are described as
meeting before the door of Euclides* house in Megara. This may
have been a spot familiar to Plato (for Megara was within a walk
of Athens), but no importance can be attached to the accidental
introduction of the founder of the Megarian philosophy. The real
intention of the preface is to create an interest about the person of
Theaetetus, who has just been carried up from the army at Corinth
in a dying state. The expectation of his death recalls the promise
of his youth, and especially the famous conversation which Socrates
had with him when he was quite young, a few days before his own
trial and death, as we are once more reminded at the end of the
dialogue. Yet we may observe that Plato has himself forgotten
this, when he represents Euclides as from time to time coming to
Athens and correcting the copy from Socrates' own mouth. The
narrative, having introduced Theaetetus, and having guaranteed
the authenticity of the dialogue (cp. Symposium, Phaedo, Par-
menides), is then dropped. No further use is made of the device.
As Plato himself remarks, who in this as in some other minute
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TION.
1 1 2 Theaetettis a real person : Tkeodorus.
ThtaeUius, points is imitated by Cicero (De Amicitia, c. i), the interlocutory
Intsoduc- words are omitted.
Theaetetus, the hero of the battle of Corinth and of the dialogue,
is a disciple of Theodorus, the great geometrician, whose science
is thus indicated to be the propaedeutic to philosophy. An interest
has been already excited about him by his approaching death, and
now he is introduced to us anew by the praises of his master
Theodorus. He is a youthful Socrates, and exhibits the same
contrast of the fair soul and the ungainly face and frame, the
Silenus mask and the god within, which are described in the Sym-
posium. The picture which Theodorus gives of his courage and
patience and intelligence and modesty is verified in the course of
the dialogue. His courage is shown by his behaviour in the battle,
and his other qualities shine forth as the argument proceeds.
Socrates takes an evident delight in * the wise Theaetetus,' who
has more in him than ' many bearded men ' ; he is quite inspired
by his answers. At first the youth is lost in wonder, and is almost
too modest to speak (151 E), but, encouraged by Socrates, he rises
to the occasion, and grows full of interest and enthusiasm about
the great question. Like a youth (162 D), he has not finally made
up his mind, and is very ready to follow the lead of Socrates, and
to enter into each successive phase of the discussion which turns
up. His great dialectical talent is shown in his power of drawing
distinctions (163 E), and of foreseeing the consequences of his own
answers (154 D). The enquiry about the nature of knowledge is
not new to him ; long ago he has felt the * pang of philosophy,* and
has experienced the youthful intoxication which is depicted in the
Philebus (p. 15). But he has hitherto been unable to make the
transition from mathematics to metaphysics. He can form a
general conception of square and oblong numbers (p. 148), but
he is unable to attain a similar expression of knowledge in the
abstract. Yet at length (p. 185) he begins to recognize that there
are universal conceptions of being, likeness, sameness, number,
which the mind contemplates in herself, and with the help of
Socrates is conducted from a theory of sense to a theory of ideas.
There is no reason to doubt that Theaetetus was a real person,
whose name survived in the next generation. But neither can
any importance be attached to the notices of him in Suidas and
Proclus, which are probably based on the mention of him in Plato.
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Theodorus : Socrates^ the man-midwife. 113
According to a confused statement in Suidas, who mentions him Theaetetm.
twice over, first, as a pupil of Socrates, and then of Plato, he is said Imthoduc.
to have written the first work on the Five Solids. But no early "*"*'
authority cites the work, the invention of which may have been
easily suggested by the division of roots, which Plato attributes to
him, and the allusion to the backward state of solid geometry in
the Republic (vii. 528 B). At any rate, there is no occasion to
recall him to life again after the battle of Corinth, in order that we
may allow time for the completion of such a work (MQller). We
may also remark that such a supposition entirely destroys the
pathetic interest of the introduction.
Theodorus, the geometrician, had once been the friend and
disciple of Protagoras, but he is very reluctant to leave his retire-
ment and defend his old master. He is too old to learn Socrates*
game of question and answer, and prefers the digressions to the
main argument, because he finds them easier to follow. The
mathematician, as Socrates says in the Republic, is not capable of
giving a reason in the same manner as the dialectician (vii. 531 D,
E), and Theodorus could not therefore have been appropriately
introduced as the chief respondent. But he may be fairly appealed
to, when the honour of his master is at stake. He is the ^ guardian
of his orphans,* although this is a responsibility which he wishes to
throw upon Callias, the friend and patron of all Sophists, declaring
that he himself had early ' run away * from philosophy, and was
absorbed in mathematics. His extreme dislike to the Heraclitean
fanatics, which may be compared with the dislike of Theaetetus
(155 E) to the materialists, and his ready acceptance of the noble
words of Socrates (175, 176), are noticeable traits of character.
The Socrates of the Theaetetus is the same as the Socrates of
the earlier dialogues. He is the invincible disputant, now ad-
vanced in years, of the Protagoras and Symposium ; he is still
pursuing his divine mission, his * Herculean labours,* of which he
has described the origin in the Apology ; and he still hears the
voice of his oracle, bidding him receive or not receive the truant
souls. There he is supposed to have a mission to convict men of
self-conceit ; in the Theaetetus he has assigned to him by God the
functions of a man-midwife, who delivers men of their thoughts,
and under this character he is present throughout the dialogue.
He is the true prophet who has an insight into the natures of men,
TOt. IV. I
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TIOM.
114 The two digressions.
71ie<uteius. and can divine their future (14a C) ; and he knows that sympathy
Imtroduc- is the secret power which unlocks their thoughts. The hit at
Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, who was specially committed
to his charge in the Laches, may be remarked by the way. The
attempt to discover the definition of knowledge is in accordance
with the character of Socrates as he is described in the Memora-
bilia, asking What is justice ? what is temperance ? and the like.
But there is no reason to suppose that he would have analyzed
the nature of perception, or traced the connexion of Protagoras
and Heracleitus, or have raised the difficulty respecting false
opinion. The humorous illustrations, as well as the serious
thoughts, run through the dialogue. The jixuhngse^Ijesa^of
Theaetetus, a characteristic which he shares with Socrates,
and the man-midwifery of Socrates, are not forgotten in the
closing words. At the end of the dialogue, as in the Euthyphro,
he is expecting to meet Meletus at the porch of the king Archon ;
but with the same indifference to the result which is everywhere
displayed by him, he proposes that they shall reassemble on the
following day at the same spot. The day comes, and in the
Sophist the three friends again meet, but no further allusion is
made to the trial, and the principal share in the argument is
assigned, not to Socrates, but to an Eleatic stranger ; the youthful
Theaetetus also plays a different and less independent part. And
there is no allusion in the Introduction to the second and third
dialogues, which are aflerwards appended. There seems, there-
fore, reason to think that there is a real change, both in the
characters and in the design.
The dialogue is an enquiry into the nature of knowledge, which
is interrupted by two digressions. The first is the digression
about the midwives, which is also a leading thought or continuous
image, like the wave in the Republic, appearing and reappearing
at intervals. Again and again we are reminded that the successive
conceptions of knowledge are extracted from Theaetetus, who in
his turn truly declares that Socrates has got a great deal more out
of him than ever was in him. Socrates is never weary of working
out the image in humorous details, — discerning the symptoms of
labour, carrying the child round the hearth, fearing that Theae-
tetus will bite him, comparing his conceptions to wind-eggs,
asserting an hereditary right to the occupation. There is also a
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The three definitions : Knowledge is {}) Sensation; 115
serious side to the image, which is an apt similitude of the Socratic TkeaeUtus.
theory of education (cp. Repub. vii. 518 D, Sophist 230), and accords Iktroduc
with the ironical spirit in which the wisest of men delights to "^"*
speak of himself.
The other digression is the famous contrast of the lawyer and
philosopher. This is a sort of landing-place or break in the middle
of the dialogue. At the commencement of a great discussion, the
reflection naturally arises, How happy are they who, like the
philosopher, have time for such discussions (cp. Rep. v. 450)1
There is no reason for the introduction of such a digression ; nor
is a reason always needed, any more than for the introduction of
an episode in a poem, or of a topic in conversation. That which
is given by Socrates is quite sufficient, viz. that the philosopher
may talk and write as he pleases. But though not very closely
connected, neither is the digression out of keeping with the rest of
the dialogue. The philosopher naturally desires to pour forth the
thoughts which are always present to him, and to discourse of the
higher life. The idea of knowledge, although hard to be defined,
is realised in the life of philosophy. And the contrast is the
favourite antithesis between the world, in the various characters
of sophist, lawyer, statesman, speaker, and the philosopher, —
between opinion and knowledge, — between the conventional and
the true.
The greater part of the dialogue is devoted to setting up and
throwing down definitions of science and knowledge. Proceeding
from the lower to the higher by three stages, in which perception,
opinion, reasoning are successively examined, we first get rid of
the confusion of the idea of knowledge and specific kinds of
knowledge,— a confusion which has been already noticed in the
Lysis, Laches, Meno, and other dialogues. In the infancy of
logic, a form of thought has to be invented before the content can
be filled up. We cannot define knowledge until the nature of
definition has been ascertained. Having succeeded in making
his meaning plain, Socrates proceeds to analyze (i) the first defi-
nition which Theaetetus proposes : * Knowledge is sensible per-
ception.' This is speedily identified with the Protagorean saying,
' Man is the measure of all things ; ' and of this again the founda-
tion is discovered in the perpetual flux of Heracleitus. The
relativeness of sensation is then developed at length, and for a
I 2
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ii6 (2) true opinion; (3) true opinion with a reason.
Theaetetus. moment the definition appears to be accepted. But soon the
Introduc. Protagorean thesis is pronounced to be suicidal ; for the adver-
saries of Protagoras are as good a measure as he is, and they
deny his doctrine. He is then supposed to reply that the per-
ception may be true at any given instant. But the reply is in the
end shown to be inconsistent with the Heraclitean foundation, on
which the doctrine has been affirmed to rest. For if the Hera-
clitean flux is extended to every sort of change in every instant of
time, how can any thought or word be detained even for an
instant ? Sensible perception, like everything else, is tumbling to
pieces. Nor can Protagoras himself maintain that one man is as
good as another in his knowledge of the future ; and * the expedient,*
if not * the just and true,* belongs to the sphere of the future."
And so we must ask again. What is knowledge? The com-
parison of sensations with one another implies a principle which
is above sensation, and which resides in the mind itself. We are
thus led to look for knowledge in a higher sphere, and accordingly
Theaetetus, when again interrogated, replies (2) that * knowledge is
true opinion.* But how is false opinion possible ? The Megarian
or Eristic spirit within us revives the question, which has been
already asked and indirectly answered in the Meno : * How can
a man be ignorant of that which he knows ?* No answer is given
to this not unanswerable question. The comparison of the mind
to a block of wax, or to a decoy of birds, is found wanting.
But are we not inverting the natural order in looking for
opinion before we have found knowledge? And knowledge is
not true opinion ; for the Athenian dicasts have true opinion but
not knowledge. What then is knowledge ? We answer (3^ ' True
opinion, with definition or explanation.* But all the different
ways in which this statement may be understood are set aside,
like the definitions of courage in the Laches, or of friendship in
the Lysis, or of temperance in the Charmides. At length we
arrive at the conclusion, in which nothing is concluded.
There are two special difficulties which beset the student of the
Theaetetus : (i) he is uncertain how far he can trust Plato's
account of the theory of Protagoras ; and he is also uncertain
(2) how far, and in what parts of the dialogue, Plato is expressing
his own opinion. The dramatic character of the work renders the
answer to both these questions difficult.
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-noM.
Does Plato misrepresent Protagoras ? 117
I. In reply to the first, we have only probabilities to oflfer. Theaeteius.
Three main points have to be decided : (a) Would Prota- Imtroduc-
goras have identified his own thesis, * Man is the measure of all
things,* with the other, *A11 knowledge is sensible perception'?
(b) Would he have based the relativity of knowledge on the Hera-
clitean flux? (c) Would he have asserted the absoluteness of
sensation at each instant ? Of the work of Protagoras on * Truth '
we know nothing, with the exception of the two famous frag-
ments, which are cited in this dialogue, ' Man is the measure of
all things,' and, 'Whether there are gods or not, I cannot tell.'
Nor have we any other trustworthy evidence of the tenets of
Protagoras, or of the sense in which his words are used. For
later writers, including Aristotle in hidjMetapnysics,yiave mixed
up the Protagoras of Plato, as they have the Socrates of Plato,
with the real person.
Returning then to the Theaetetus, as the only possible source
from which an answer to these questions can be obtained, we
may remark, that Plato had *The Truth' of Protagoras before
him, and frequently refers to the book. He seems to say ex-
pressly, that in this work the doctrine of the Heraclitean flux was
not to be found (p. 152) ; * he told the real truth ' (not in the book,
which is so entitled, but) * privately to his disciples,'— words
which imply that the connexion between the doctrines of Pro-
tagoras and Heracleitus was not generally recognized in Greece,
but was really discovered or invented by Plato. On the other
hand, the doctrine that ' Man is the measure of all things,' is ex-
pressly identified by Socrates with the other statement, that * What
appears to each man is to him ; ' and a reference is made to the
books in which the statement occurs ;— this Theaetetus, who has
'often read the books,' is supposed to acknowledge (152 A: so
Cratylus 385 E). And Protagoras, in the speech attributed to him,
never says that he has been misunderstood : at p. 166 C he rather
seems to imply that the absoluteness of sensation at each instant
was to be found in his words (cp. 158 E). He is only indignant at
the *reductio ad absurdum' devised by Socrates for his *homo
raensura,' which Theodorus also considers to be 'really too
bad.'
The question may be raised, how far Plato in the Theaetetus
could have misrepresented Protagoras without violating the laws
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ii8
Thtaetetus.
Intkoduc>
TION.
Plato should be read as a dramatic writer,
of dramatic probability. Could he have pretended to cite from
a well-known writing what was not to be found there ? But such
a shadowy enquiry is not worth pursuing further. We need only
remember that in the criticism which follows of the thesb of
Protagoras, we are criticizing the Protagoras of Plato, and not
attempting to draw a precise line between his real sentiments and
those which Plato has attributed to him.
2. The other difficulty is a more subtle, and also a more im-
portant one, because bearing on the general character of the
Platonic dialogues. On a first reading of them, we are apt to
imagine that the truth is only spoken by Socrates, who is never
guilty of a fallacy himself, and is the great detector of the errors
and fallacies of others. But this natural presumption is disturbed
by the discovery that the Sophists are sometimes in the right and
Socrates in the wrong. Like the hero of a novel, he is not to be
supposed always to represent the sentiments of the author. There
are few modem readers who do not side with Protagoras, rather
than with Socrates, in the dialogue which is called by his name.
The Cratylus presents a similar difficulty : in his etymologies, as
in the number of the State, we cannot tell how far Socrates is
serious ; for the Socratic irony will not allow him to distinguish
between his real and his assumed wisdom. No one is the superior
of the invincible Socrates in argument (except in the first part of
the Parmenides, where he is introduced as a youth) ; but he is
by no means supposed to be in possession of the whole truth.
Arguments are often put into his mouth (cp. Introduction to the
Gorgias) which must have seemed quite as untenable to Plato as
to a modem writer. In this dialogue a great part of the answer
of Protagoras is just and sound ; remarks are made by him on
verbal criticism, and on the importance of understanding an
opponent's meaning, which are conceived in the tme spirit of
philosophy. And the distinction which he is supposed to draw
between Eristic and Dialectic (167, 168), is really a criticism of
Plato on himself and his own criticism of Protagoras.
The difficulty seems to arise from not attending to the dramatic
character of the writings of Plato. There are two, or more, sides
to questions ; and these are parted among the different speakers.
Sometimes one view or aspect of a question is made to pre-
dominate over the rest, as in the Gorgias or Sophist ; but in other
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and in the spirit of his age, 119
dialogues truth is divided, as in the Laches and Protagoras, and Tkeaetetus,
the interest of the piece consists in the contrast of opinions. The Introduo-
confusion caused by the irony of Socrates, who, if he is true to
his character, cannot say anything of his own knowledge, is
increased by the circumstance that in the Theaetetus and some
other dialogues he is occasionally playing both parts himself,
and even charging his own arguments with unfairness. In the
Theaetetus he is designedly held back from arriving at a con-
clusion. For we cannot suppose that Plato conceived a definition
of knowledge to be impossible. But this is his manner of ap-
proaching and surrounding a question. The lights which he
throws on his subject are indirect, but they are not the less real
for that. He has no intention of proving a thesis by a cut-and-
dried argument ; nor does he imagine that a great philosophical
problem can be tied up within the limits of a definition. If he
has analyzed a proposition or notion, even with the severity of
an impossible logic, if half-truths have been compared by him
with other half-truths, if he has cleared up or advanced popular
ideas, or illustrated a new method, his aim has been sufficiently
accomplished.
The vnitings of Plato belong to an age in which the power of
analysis had outrun the means of knowledge; and through a
spurious use of dialectic, the distinctions which had been already
'won from the void and formless infinite,' seemed to be rapidly
returning to their original chaos. The two great speculative
philosophies, which a century earlier had so deeply impressed
the mind of Hellas, were now degenerating into Eristic. The
contemporaries of Plato and Socrates were vainly trying to find
new combinations of them, or to transfer them from the object to
the subject. The Megarians, in their first attempts to attain a
severer logic, were making knowledge impossible (cp. Theaet.
202). They were asserting *the one good under many names,'
and, like the Cynics, seem to have denied predication, while the
Cynics themselves were depriving virtue of all which made virtue
desirable in the eyes of Socrates and Plato. And besides these,
we find mention in the later writings of Plato, especially in the
Theaetetus, Sophist, and Laws, of certain impenetrable godless
persons, who will not believe what they * cannot hold in their
hands'; and cannot be approached in argument, because they
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1 20 Conflict of abstractions,
Theaeteius, cannot argue (Theaet. 155 E ; Soph. 246 A). No school of Greek
Introduc- philosophers exactly answers to these persons, in whom Plato
may perhaps have blended some features of the Atomists with the
vulgar materialistic tendencies of mankind in general (cp. Intro-
duction to the Sophist).
And not only was there a conflict of opinions, but the stage
which the mind had reached presented other difficulties hardly
intelligible to us, who live in a different cycle of human thought.
All times of mental progress are times of confusion ; we only see,
or rather seem to see things clearly, when they have been long
fixed and defined. In the age of Plato, the limits of the world of
imagination and of pure abstraction, of the old world and the
new, were not yet fixed. The Greeks, in the fourth century
before Christ, had no words for * subject* and 'object,' and no
distinct conception of them ; yet they were always hovering about
the question involved in them. The analysis of sense, and the
analysis of thought, were equally difficult to them ; and hope-
lessly confused by the attempt to solve them, not through an
appeal to facts, but by the help of general theories respecting the
nature of the universe.
Plato, in his Theaetetus, gathers up the sceptical tendencies of
his age, and compares them. But he does not seek to reconstruct
out of them a theory of knowledge. The time at which such a
theory could be framed had not yet arrived. For there was no
measure of experience with which the ideas swarming in men's
minds could be compared ; the meaning of the word * science '
could scarcely be explained to them, except from the mathe-
matical sciences, which alone offered the type of universality and
certainty. Philosophy was becoming more and more vacant and
abstract, and not only the Platonic Ideas and the Eleatic Being,
but all abstractions seemed to be at variance with sense and at
war with one another.
The want of the Greek mind in the fourth century before Christ
was not another theory of rest or motion, or Being or atoms, but
rather a philosophy which could free the mind from the power of
abstractions and alternatives, and show how far rest and how far
motion, how far the universal principle of Being and the mul-
titudinous principle of atoms, entered into the composition of
the world; which could distinguish between the true and false
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Analysts 142, 143.
121
Intkoduc-
TIOH.
analogy, and allow the negative as well as the positive a place in Theaetetus,
human thought. To such a philosophy Plato, in the Theaetetus,
offers many contributions. He has followed philosophy into the
region of mythology, and pointed out the similarities of opposing
phases of thought. He has also shown that extreme abstractions
are self-destructive, and, indeed, hardly distinguishable from one
another. But his intention is not to unravel the whole subject of
knowledge, if this had been possible ; and several times in the
course of the dialogue he rejects explanations of knowledge which
have germs of truth in them ; as, for example, * the resolution of
the compound into the simple ; ' or * right opinion with a mark
of difference.'
Steph.
142
Terpsion, who has come to Megara from the country, is de-
scribed as having looked in vain for Euclides in the Agora ; the
latter explains that he has been down to the harbour, and on his
way thither had met Theaetetus, who was being carried up from
the army to Athens. He was scarcely alive, for he had been
badly wounded at the battle of Corinth, and had taken the dysen-
tery which prevailed in the camp. The mention of his condition
suggests the reflection, * What a loss he will be ! * * Yes, indeed,'
replies Euclid ; * only just now I was hearing of his noble conduct
in the battle,' * That I should expect ; but why did he not remain
at Megara?' 'I wanted him to remain, but he would not; so I
went with him as far as Erineum; and as I parted from him,
I remembered that Socrates had seen him when he was a youth,
and had a remarkable conversation with him, not long before his
own death ; and he then prophesied of him that he would be a
great man if he lived.' * How true that has been ; how like all
that Socrates said ! And could you repeat the conversation ? '
143 ' Not from memory ; but I took notes when I returned home,
which I afterwards filled up at leisure, and got Socrates to correct
them from time to time, when I came to Athens.' . . . Terpsion
had long intended to ask for a sight of this writing, of which he
had already heard. They are both tired, and agree to rest and
have the conversation read to them by a servant. ... * Here is
the roll, Terpsion ; I need only observe that I have omitted, for
the sake of convenience, the interlocutory words, " said I," " said
Analysis.
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122 Analysis 143-145.
Tkeaetetus, he"; and that Theaetetus, and Theodorus, the geometrician of
Analysis. Cyrene, are the persons with whom Socrates is conversing.*
Socrates begins by asking Theodorus whether, in his visit to
Athens, he has found any Athenian youth likely to attain dis-
tinction in science. * Yes, Socrates, there is one very remarkable
youth, with whom I have become acquainted. He is no beauty,
and therefore you need not imagine that I am in love with him ;
and, to say the truth, he is very like you, for he has a snub nose,
and projecting eyes, although these features are not so marked in
him as in you. He combines the most various qualities, quickness, 144
patience, courage ; and he is gentle as well as wise, always
silently flowing on, like a river of oil. Look ! he is the middle
one of those who are entering the palaestra.*
Socrates, who does not know his name, recognizes him as the
son of Euphronius, who was himself a good man and a rich. He
is informed by Theodorus that the youth is named Theaetetus, but
the property of his father has disappeared in the hands of trustees ;
this does not, however, prevent him from adding liberality to his
other virtues. At the desire of Socrates he invites Theaetetus to
sit by them.
* Yes,' says Socrates, * that I may see in you, Theaetetus, the
image of my ugly self, as Theodorus declares. Not that his
remark is of any importance ; for though he is a philosopher,
he is not a painter^ and therefore he is no judge of our faces ; 145
but, as he is a man of science, he may be a judge of our intel-
lects. And if he were to praise the mental endowments of
either of us, in that case the hearer of the^eulogvpught to examine
into what he says, and the subject should not refuse to be ex-
amined.* Theaetetus consents, and is caught in a trap (cp. the
similar trap which is laid for Theodorus, at p. 166, 168 D). * Then,
Theaetetus, you will have to be examined, for Theodorus has been
praising you in a style of which I never heard the like.' * He was
only jesting.' * Nay, that is not his way ; and I cannot allow
you, on that pretence, to retract the assent which you have
already given, or I shall make Theodorus repeat your praises,
and swear to them.' Theaetetus, in reply, professes that he is
willing to be examined, and Socrates begins by asking him what
he learns of Theodorus. He is himself anxious to learn anything
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Analysis 145-150. 123
of anybody ; and now he has a little question to which he wants TktaeUtus.
Theaetetus or Theodorus (or whichever of the company would amalvus.
not be * donkey ' to the rest) to find an answer. Without further
preface, but at the same time apologizing for his eagerness, he
146 asks, *What is knowledge?' Theodorus is too old to answer
questions, and begs him to interrogate Theaetetus, who has the
advantage of youth.
Theaetetus replies, that knowledge is what he learns of Theo-
dorus, i. e. geometry and arithmetic ; and that there are other
kinds of knowledge— shoemaking, carpentering, and the like.
But Socrates rejoins, that this answer contains too much and
also too little. For although Theaetetus has enumerated several
kinds of knowledge, he has not explained the common nature
147 of them ; as if he had been asked, ' What is clay ? ' and instead of
saying, * Clay is moistened earth,* he had answered, * There is one
clay of image-makers, another of potters, another of oven-makers.'
Theaetetus at once divines that Socrates means him to extend
to all kinds of knowledge the same process of generalization
which he has already learned to apply to arithmetic. For he
has discovered a division of numbers into square numbers, 4, 9,
16, &c., which are composed of equal factors, and represent
148 figures which have equal sides, and oblong numbers, 3, 5, 6, 7, &c.,
which are composed of unequal factors, and represent figures
which have unequal sides. But he has never succeeded in at-
taining a similar conception of knowledge, though he has oflen
tried ; and, when this and similar questions were brought to him
from Socrates, has been sorely distressed by them. Socrates
149 explains to him that he is in labour. For men as well as women
have pangs of labour ; and both at times require the assistance of
midwives. And he, Socrates, is a midwife, although this is a
secret ; he has inherited the art from his mother bold and bluflf,
and he ushers into light, not children, but the thoughts of men.
Like the midwives, who are *past bearing children,' he too can have
no oflfspring— the God will not allow him to bring anything into
the world of his own. He also reminds Theaetetus that the
midwives are or ought to be the only matchmakers (this is the
preparation for a biting jest, 151 B) ; for those who reap the fruit
1 50 are most likely to know on what soil the plants will grow. But
respectable midwives avoid this department of practice — they
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124 • Analysts 150-152.
Thtaetetus, do not want to be called procuresses. There are some other
Analysis, differences between the two sorts of pregnancy. For women
do not bring into the world at one time real children and at
another time idols which are with difficulty distinguished from
them. * At first/ says Socrates in his character of the man -midwife,
*my patients are barren and stolid, but after a while they "round
apace," if the gods are propitious to them ; and this is due not
to me but to themselves ; I and the god only assist in bringing
their ideas to the birth. Many of them have left me too soon, and
the result has been that they have produced abortions ; or when
I have delivered them of children they have lost them by an ill
bringing up, and have ended by seeing themselves, as others see
them, to be great fools. Aristides, the son of Lysimachus, is one
of these, and there have been others. The truants often return to 1 5 1
me and beg to be taken back ; and then, if my familiar allows me,
which is not always the case, I receive them, and they begin to
grow again. There come to me also those who have nothing in
them, and have no need of my art ; and I am their matchmaker
(see above), and marry them to Prodicus or some other inspired
sage who is likely to suit them. I tell you this long story because
I suspect that you are in labour. Come then to me, who am
a midwife, and the son of a midwife, and I will deliver you. And
do not bite me, as the women do, if I abstract your first-bom ; for
I am acting out of good-will towards you ; the God who is within
me is the friend of man, though he will not allow me to dissemble
the truth. Once more then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old question—
" What is knowledge ? " Take courage, and by the help of God
you will discover an answer.' * My answer is, that knowledge is
perception.' 'That is the theory of Protagoras, who has another 152
way of expressing the same thing when he says, ** Man is the
measure of all things." He was a very wise man, and we should
try to understand him. In order to illustrate his meaning let me
suppose that there is the same wind blowing in our faces, and one
of us may be hot and the other cold. How is this ? Protagoras
will reply that the wind is hot to him who is cold, cold to him who
is hot. And " is " means ** appears," and when you say ** appears
to him," that means "he feels." Thus feeling, appearance, per-
ceptionj coincide with being. I suspect, however, that this was
only a *' fa9on de parler," by iC^hich he imposed on the common herd
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Analysis 152-155. . 125
like you and me ; he told " the truth " [in allusion to the title of his Theaetetus.
book, which was called " The Truth "] in secret to his disciples. Amalysm.
For he was really a votary of that famous philosophy in which all
things are said to be relative ; nothing is great or small, or heavy
or light, or one, but all is in motion and mixture and transition
and flux and generation, not " being," as we ignorantly affirm, but
" becoming/' This has been the doctrine, not of Protagoras only,
but of all philosophers, with the single exception of Parmenides ;
Empedocles, Heracleitus, and others, and all the poets, with
Epicharmus, the king of Comedy, and Homer, the king of
Tragedy, at their head, have said the same ; the latter has these
words —
" Ocean, whence the gods sprang, and mother Tcthys,"
153 And many arguments are used to show, that motion is the source
of life, and rest of death : fire and warmth are produced by
friction, and living creatures owe their origin to a similar cause ;
the bodily frame is preserved by exercise and destroyed by in-
dolence ; and if the sun ceased to move, " chaos would come again."
Now apply this doctrine of ** All is motion *' to the senses, and first
of all to the sense of sight. The colour of white, or any other
colour, is neither in the eyes nor out of them, but ever in motion
1 54 between the object and the eye, and varying in the case of every
percipient. All is relative, and, as the followers of Protagoras
remark, endless contradictions arise when we deny this ; e.g. here
are six dice ; they are more than four and less than twelve ; " more
and also less," would you not say ? ' * Yes.' * But Protagoras will
retort : " Can anything be more or less without addition or
subtraction ? " *
* I should say " No " if I were not afraid of contradicting my
former answer.'
* And if you say " Yes," the tongue will escape conviction but not
the mind, as Euripides would say ? ' * True.' * The thoroughbred
Sophists, who know all that can be known, would have a sparring
match over this, but you and I, who have no professional pride,
155 want only to discover whether our ideas are clear and consistent.
And we cannot be wrong in sa)ring, first, that nothing can be
greater or less while remaining equal ; secondly, that there can be
no becoming greater or less without addition or subtraction ; thirdly,
/
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126 Analysts 155-157.
TheaeUtus, that what is and was not, cannot be without having become. But
Akalysis. then how is this reconcileable with the case of the dice, and with
similar examples ?— that is the question.' * I am often perplexed
and amazed, Socrates, by these difficulties/ ' That is because you
are a philosopher, for philosophy begin^jiLwonder, and Iris is the
child of Thaumas. Do you know the original principle on which
the doctrine of Protagoras is based ? ' * No.* * Then I will tell you ;
but we must not let the uninitiated hear, and by the uninitiated
I mean the obstinate people who believe in nothing which they
cannot hold in their hands. The brethren whose mysteries I am 156
about to unfold to you are far more ingenious. They maintain that
all is motion ; and that motion has two forms, action and passion,
out of which endless phenomena are created, also in two forms —
sense and the object of sense— which come to the birth together.
There are two kinds of motions, a slow and a fast ; the motions
of the agent and the patient are slower, because they move and
create in and about themselves, but the things which are bom of
them have a swifter motion, and pass rapidly from place to place.
The eye and the appropriate object come together, and give birth
to whiteness and the sensation of whiteness; the eye is filled with
seeing, and becomes not sight but a seeing eye, and the object
is filled with whiteness, and becomes not whiteness but white ;
and no other compound of either with another would have pro-
duced the same effect. All sensation is to be resolved into a 157
similar combination of an agent and patient Of either, taken
separately, no idea can be formed ; and the agent may become
a patient, and the patient an agent. Hence there arises a general
reflection that nothing is, but all things become; no name can
detain or fix them. Are not these speculations charming, Theae-
tetus, and very good for a person in your interesting situation?
I am offering you specimens of other men's wisdom, because
I have no wisdom of my own, and I want to deliver you of
something ; and presently we will see whether you have brought
forth wind or not. Tell me, then, what do you think of the notion
that " All thin^are,,^ecoming** ? *
'When fhear your arguments, I am marvellously ready to
assent'
*But I ought not to conceal from you that there is a serious
objection which may be urged against this doctrine of Protagoras.
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Analysts 158-161. 127
158 For there are states, such as madness and dreaming, in which ThioeUtus.
perception is false ; and half our life is spent in dreaming ; and Analysis.
who can say that at this instant we are not dreaming ? Even the
fancies of madmen are real at the time. But if knowledge is
perception, how can we distinguish between the true and the
false m such cases ? Having stated the objection, I will now state
the answer. Protagoras would deny the continuity of phenomena ;
1 59 he would say that what is different is entirely different, and
whether active or passive has a different power. There are
infinite agents and patients in the world, and these produce in
every combination of them a different perception. Take myself
as an instance:— Socrates may be ill or he may be well,— and
remember that Socrates, with all his accidents, is spoken of. The
wine which I drink when I am well is pleasant to me, but the
same wine is unpleasant to me when I am ill. And there is
160 nothing else from which I can receive the same impression, nor
can another receive the same impression from the wine. Neither
can I and the object of sense become separately what we become
together. For the one in becoming is relative to the other, but
they have no other relation ; and the combination of them is
absolute at each moment. [In modem language, the act of sen-
sation is really indivisible, though capable of a mental analysis
into subject and object.] My sensation alone is true, and true to
me only. And therefore, as Protagoras says, " To myself I am the
judge of what is and what is not" Thus the flux of Homer and
Heracleitus, the great Protagorean sa)ring that "Man is the
measure of all things," the doctrine of Theaetetus that " Knowledge
is perception," have all the same meaning. And this is thy
new- bom child, which by my art I have brought to light ; and
161 you must not be angry if instead of rearing your infant we
expose him.'
* Theaetetus will not be angry,* says Theodorus; *he is very
good-natured. But I should like to know, Socrates, whether you
mean to say that all this is untrue ? '
* First reminding you that I am not the bag which contains the
arguments, but that I extract them from Theaetetus, shall I tell
you what amazes me in your friend Protagoras ? '
'What may that be?'
* I like his doctrine that what appears is ; but I wonder that he
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128 Analysis 161-164.
Theaetetus, did not begin his great work on Truth with a declaration that a pig,
Analysis, or a dog- faced baboon, or any other monster which has sensation,
is a measure of all things ; then, while we were reverencing him
as a god, he might have produced a magnificent effect by ex-
pounding to us that he was no wiser than a tadpole. For if sen-
sations are always true, and one man's discernment is as good as
another's, and every man is his own judge, and everything that
he judges is right and true, then what need of Protagoras to be
our instructor at a high figure; and why should we be less
knowing than he is, or have to go to him, if every man is the
measure of all things ? My own art of midwifery, and all dialectic,
is an enormous folly, if Protagoras* "Truth " be indeed truth, and
the philosopher is not merely amusing himself by giving oracles
out of his book.*
Theodorus thinks that Socrates is unjust to his master, Prota- 162
goras ; but he is too old and stiff to try a fall with him, and there-
fore refers him to Theaetetus, who is already driven out of his
former opinion by the arguments of Socrates.
Socrates then takes up the defence of Protagoras, who is sup-
posed to reply in his own person— * Good people, you sit and
declaim about the gods, of whose existence or non-existence I have
nothing to say, or you discourse about man being reduced to the
level of the brutes ; but what proof have you of your statements ?
And yet surely you and Theodorus had better reflect whether
probability is a safe guide. Theodorus would be a bad geo- 163
metrician if he had nothing better to offer.* . . . Theaetetus is
affected by the appeal to geometry, and Socrates is induced by
him to put the question in a new form. He proceeds as follows :
— * Should we say that we know what we see and hear,— e. g. the
sound of words or the sight of letters in a foreign tongue ? *
* We should say that the figures of the letters, and the pitch of
the voice in uttering them, were known to us, but not the meaning
of them.'
* Excellent ; I want you to grow, and therefore I will leave that
answer and ask another question : Is not seeing perceiving ? '
* Very true.* * And he who sees knows ? ' * Yes.* * And he who
remembers, remembers that which he sees and knows ? ' * Very
true.* * But if he closes his eyes, does he not remember ? ' * He 164
does.* * Then he may remember and not see ; and if seeing is
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Analysts 164-166. 129
knowing, he may remember and not know. Is not this a " reductio Theaetetus,
ad absurdum " of the hypothesis that knowledge is sensible percep- Amalysm.
tion ? Yet perhaps we are crowing too soon ; and if Protagoras,
** the father of the mjrth," had been alive, the result might have
been very different. But he is dead, and Theodorus, whom he
left guardian of his "orphan," has not been very zealous in
defending him.'
165 Theodorus objects that Callias is the true guardian, but he hopes
that Socrates will come to the rescue. Socrates prefaces his
defence by resuming the attack. He asks whether a man can
know and not know at the same time? 'Impossible.' Quite
possible, if you maintain that seeing is knowing. The confident
adversary, suiting the action to the word, shuts one of your eyes ;
and now, says he, you see and do not see, but do you know and
not know? And a fresh opponent darts from his ambush, and
transfers to knowledge the terms which are commonly applied to
sight. He asks whether you can know near and not at a distance ;
whether you can have a sharp and also a dull knowledge. While
you are wondering at his incomparable wisdom, he gets you into
his power, and you will not escape until you have come to an
understanding with him about the money which is to be paid for
your release.
But Protagoras has not yet made his defence ; and already he
166 may be heard contemptuously replying that he is not responsible
for the admissions which were made by a boy, who could not fore-
see the coming move, and therefore had answered in a manner
which enabled Socrates to raise a laugh against himself. 'But
I cannot be fairly charged,* he will say, * with an answer which I
should not have given ; for I never maintained that the memory
of a feeling is the same as a feeling, or denied that a man might
know and not know the same thing at the same time. Or, if you
will have extreme precision, I say that man in different relations
is many or rather infinite in number. And I challenge you, either
to show that his perceptions are not individual, or that if they are,
what appears to him is not what is. As to your pigs and baboons,
you are yourself a pig, and you make my writings a sport of other
swine. But I still affirm that man is the measure of all things,
although I admit that one man may be a thousand times better
than another, in proportion as he has better impressions. Neither
VOL. IV. K
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i30 Analysts 166-168.
Theaetetus, do I deny the existence of wisdom or of the wise man. But I main-
Analysis. tain that wisdom is a practical remedial power of turning evil into
good, the bitterness of disease into the sweetness of health, and
does not consist in any greater truth or superior knowledge.
For the impressions of the sick are as true as the impressions
of the healthy; and the sick are as wise as the healthy. Nor 167
can any man be cured of a false opinion, for there is no such
thing; but he may be cured of the evil habit which generates
in him an evil opinion. This is effected in the body by the drugs
of the physician, and in the soul by the words of the Sophist ;
and the new state or opinion is not truer, but only better than
the old. And philosophers are not tadpoles, but physicians and
husbandmen, who till the soil and infuse health into animals
and plants, and make the good take the place of the evil, both
in individuals and states. Wise and good rhetoricians make the
good to appear just in states (for that is just which appears just to
a state), and in return, they deserve to be well paid. And you,
Socrates, whether you please or not, must continue to be a
measure. This is my defence, and I must request you to meet
me fairly. We are professing to reason, and not merely to dis-
pute ; and there is a great difference between reasoning and
disputation. For the disputer is always seeking to trip up his
opponent ; and this is a mode of argument which disgusts men
with philosophy as they grow older. But the reasoner is trying
to understand him and to point out his errors to him, whether
arising from his own or from his companions* fault; he does not 168
argue from the customary use of names, which the vulgar pervert
in all manner of ways. If you are gentle to an adversary he will
follow and love you ; and if defeated he will lay the blame on
himself, and seek to escape from his own prejudices into philo-
sophy. I would recommend you, Socrates, to adopt this humaner
method, and to avoid captious and verbal criticisms.'
Such, Theodorus, is the very slight help which I am able to
afford to your friend ; had he been alive, he would have helped
himself in far better style.
* You have made a most valorous defence.'
Yes ; but did you observe that Protagoras bade me be serious,
and complained of our getting up a laugh against him with the aid
of a boy ? He meant to intimate that you must take the place
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Analysis 168-171. 131
of Theaetetus, who maybe wiser than many bearded men, but not ThiMtetm^
wiser than you, Theodorus. AwAiMs.
169 'The rule of the Spartan Palaestra is, Strip or depart ; but you
are like the giant Antaeus, and will not let me depart unless I try
a fall with you.'
Yes, that is the nature of my complaint. And many a Hercules,
many a Theseus mighty in deeds and words has broken my head ;
but I am always at this rough game. Please, then, to favour me.
* On the condition of not exceeding a single fall, I consent.*
170 Socrates now resumes the argument. As he is very desirous of
doing justice to Protagoras, he insists on citing his own words, —
* What appears to each man is to him.* And how, asks Socrates,
are these words reconcileable with the fact that all mankind are
agreed in thinking themselves wiser than others in some respects,
and inferior to them in others ? In the hour of danger they are
ready to fall down and worship any one who is their superior in
wisdom as if he were a god. And the world is full of men who
are asking to be taught and willing to be ruled, and of other men
who are willing to rule and teach them. All which implies that
men do judge of one another's impressions, and think some wise
and others foolish. How will Protagoras answer this argument ?
For he cannot say that no one deems another ignorant or mis-
taken. If you form a judgment, thousands and tens of thousands
are ready to maintain the opposite. The multitude may not and
do not agree in Protagoras* own thesis that * Man is the measure
171 of all things ;* and then who is to decide ? Upon his own showing
must not his * truth * depend on the number of suffrages, and be
more or less true in proportion as he has more or fewer of them ?
And he must acknowledge further, that they speak truly who deny *
him to speak truly, which is a famous jest. And if he admits that
they speak truly who deny him to speak truly, he must admit
that he himself does not speak trlily. But his opponents will
refuse to admit this of themselves, and he must allow that they
are right in their refusal. The conclusion is, that all mankind,
including Protagoras himself, will deny that he speaks truly ;
and his truth will be true neither to himself nor to anybody else.
Theodorus is inclined to think that this is going too far. Socrates
ironically replies, that he is not going beyond the truth. But if the
old Protagoras could only pop his head out of the world below, he
K 2
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132 Analysis 1 71-173.
Theaetetus. would doubtless give them both a sound castigation and be off to
Akalysis. the shades in an instant. Seeing that he is not within call, we
must examine the question for ourselves. It is clear that there are
great differences in the understandings of men. Admitting, with
Protagoras, that immediate sensations of hot, cold, and the like,
are to each one such as they appear, yet this hypothesis cannot be
extended to judgments or opinions. And even if we were to admit 172
further,— and this is the view of some who are not thorough-going
followers of Protagoras,— that right and wrong, holy and unholy,
are to each state or individual such as they appear, still Protagoras
will not venture to maintain that every man is equally the measure
of expediency, or that the thing which seems is expedient to every
one. ^uFfhis begins a new question. * Well, Socrates, we have
plenty of leisure.* Yes, we have, and, after the manner of philo-
sophers, we are digressing ; I have often observed how ridiculous
this habit of theirs makes them when they appear in court. * What
do you mean ? * I mean to say that a philosopher is a gentleman,
but a lawyer is a servant. The one can have his talk out, and
wander at will from one subject to another, as the fancy takes
him ; like ourselves, he may be long or short, as he pleases. But
the lawyer is always in a hurry ; there is the clepsydra limiting
his time, and the brief limiting his topics, and his adversary is
standing over him and exacting his rights. He is a servant dis-
puting about a fellow-servant before his master, who holds the
cause in his hands ; the path never diverges, and often the race is 173
for his life. Such experiences render him keen and shrewd ; he
learns the arts of flattery, and is perfect in the practice of crooked
ways ; dangers have come upon him too soon, when the tender-
ness of youth was unable to meet them with truth and honesty,
and he has resorted to counter-acts of dishonesty and falsehood,
and become warped and distorted ; without any health or freedom
or sincerity in him he has grown up to manhood, and is or esteems
himself to be a master of cunning. Such are the lawyers ; will
you have the companion picture of philosophers ? or will this be
too much of a digression ?
* Nay, Socrates, the argument is our servant, and not our master.
Who is the judge or where is the spectator, having a right to
control us ? '
I will describe the leaders, then ; for the inferior sort are not
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Analysts 173-175- U3
worth the trouble. The lords of philosophy have not learned the Theattttus.
way to the dicastery or ecclesia ; they neither see nor hear the Analysis.
laws and votes of the state,~wntten or recited ; societies, whether
political or festive, clubs, and singing maidens do not enter even
into their dreams. And the scandals of persons or their ancestors,
male and female, they know no more than they can tell the num-
ber of pints in the ocean. Neither ^re they conscious of their own
ignorance ; for they do not practise singularity in order to gain
reputation, but the truth is, that the outer form of them only is
residing in the city ; the inner man, as Pindar says, is going on a
voyage of discovery, measuring as with line and rule the things
174 which are under and in the earth, interrogating the whole of
nature, only not condescending to notice what is near them.
* What do you mean,'5<y<f rates ? '
I will illustrate my meaning by the jest of the witty maid-
servant, who saw Thales tumbling into a well, and said of him,
that he was so eager to know what was going on in heaven, that
he could not see what was before his feet. This is applicable to
all philosophers. The philosopher is unacquainted with the world ;
he hardly knows whether his neighbour is a man or an animal.
For he is always searching into the essence of man, and enquiring
what such a nature ought to do or suffer different from any other.
Hence, on every occasion in private life and public, as I was
saying, when he appears in a law-court or anywhere, he is the
joke, not only of maid-servants, but of the general herd, falling into
wells and every sort of disaster ; he looks such an awkward,
inexperienced creature, unable to say an3rthing personal, when he
is abused, in answer to his adversaries (for he knows no evil of
any one); and when he hears the praises of others, he cannot help
laughing from the bottom of his soul at their pretensions; and
this also gives him a ridiculous appearance. A king or tyrant
appears to him to be a kind of swine-herd or cow- herd, milking
away at an animal who is much more troublesome and dangerous
than cows or sheep; like the cow-herd, he has no time to be
educated, and the pen in which he keeps his flock in the moun-
tains is surrounded by a wall. When he hears of large landed
properties of ten thousand acres or more, he thinks of the whole
175 earth ; or if he is told of the antiquity of a family, he remembers
that every one has had myriads of progenitors, rich and poor,
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134 Analysis 175, 176.
TheaeUtus. Greeks and barbarians, kings and slaves. And he who boasts of
AwALvsw. his descent from Amphitryon in the twenty-fifth generation, may,
if he pleases, add as many more, and double that again, and our
philosopher only laughs at his inability to do a larger sum. Such
is the man at whom the vulgar scoff; he seems to them as if he
could not mind his feet. * That is very true, Socrates.' But when
he tries to draw the quick-witted lawyer out of his pleas and
rejoinders to the contemplation of absolute justice or injustice in
their own nature, or from the popular praises of wealthy kings to
the view of happiness and misery in themselves, or to the reasons
why a man should seek afler the one and avoid the other, then the
situation is reversed ; the little wretch turns giddy, and is ready
to fall over the precipice ; his utterance becomes thick, and he
makes himself ridiculous, not to servant-maids, but to every man
of liberal education. Such are the two pictures : the one of the
philosopher and gentleman, who may be excused for not having
learned how to make a bed, or cook up flatteries ; the other, a
serviceable knave, who hardly knows how to wear his cloak, — 176
still less can he awaken harmonious thoughts or hymn virtue's
praises.
* If the world, Socrates, were as ready to receive your words
as I am, there would be greater peace and less evil among
mankind.'
Evil, Theodorus, must ever remain in this world to be the
antagonist of good, out of the way of the gods in heaven.
Wherefore also we should fly away from ourselves to them;
and to fly to them is to become like them ; and to become like
them is to become holy, just and true. But many live in the old
wives' fable of appearances ; they think that you should follow
virtue in order that you may seem to be good. And yet the truth
is, that God is righteous ; and of men, he is most like him who is
\ most righteous. To know this is wisdom ; and in comparison of
this the wisdom of the arts or the seeming wisdom of politicians
is mean and common. The unrighteous man is apt to pride him-
; self on his cunning ; when others call him rogue, he says to
himself : * They only mean that I am one who deserves to live, and
not a mere burden of the earth.' But he should reflect that his
ignorance makes his condition worse than if he knew. For the
penalty of injustice is not death or stripes, but the fatal necessity
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Analysis 176-180. 155
of becoming more and more unjust. Two patterns of life are set Theaetetiiu
before him ; the one blessed and divine, the other godless and AwALvgis.
wretched; and he is growing more and more like the one and
177 unlike the other. He does not see that if he continues in his
cunning, the place of innocence will not receive him after death.
And yet if such a man has the courage to hear the argument out,
he often becomes dissatisfied with himself, and has no more
strength in him than a child.— But we have digressed enough.
* For my part, Socrates, I like the dijjessions better than the*
argument, because I understand them better.'
To return. When we left off, the Protagoreans and Hera--
cliteans were maintaining that the ordinances of the State were.
178 just, while they lasted. But no one would maintain that the laws*
of the State were always good or expedient, although this may be
the intention of them. For the expedient has to do with the
future, about which we are liable to mistake. Now, would Pro-
tagoras maintain that man is the measure not only of the present
and past, but of the future ; and that there is no difiference in the
judgments of men about the future ? Would an untrained man, for
example, be as likely to know when he is going to have a fever,
as the physician who attended him ? And if they differ in opinion,
which of them is likely to be right ; or are they both right ? Is
not a vine-grower a better judge of a vintage which is not yet
gathered, or a cook of a dinner which is in preparation, or Pro-
tagoras of the probable effect of a speech than an ordinary person ?
179 The last example speaks *ad hominem.' For Protagoras would
never have amassed a fortune if every man could judge of the
future for himself. He is, therefore, compelled to admit that he is
a measure; but I, who know nothing, am not equally convinced
that I am. This is one way of refuting' him ; and he is refuted
also by the authority which he attributes to the opinions of others,
who deny his opinions. I am not equally sure that we can dis-
prove the truth of immediate states of feeling. But this leads us
to the doctrine of the universal flux, about which a battle-royal is
always going on in the cities of Ionia. * Yes ; the Ephesians are
downright mad about the flux ; they cannot stop to argue with
you, but are in perpetual motion, obedient to their text-books.
Their restlessness is beyond expression, and if you ask any of
I So them a question, they will not answer, but dart at you some
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136 Analysis 180-183.
ITuaetetus, unintelligible saying, and another and another, making no way
Akaltiis. either with themselves or with others; for nothing is fixed in
them or their ideas, — they are at war with fixed principles.'
I suppose, Theodorus, that you have never seen them in time of
peace, when they discourse at leisure to their disciples ? * Dis-
ciples ! they have none ; they are a set of uneducated fanatics,
and each of them says of the other that they have no knowledge.
We must trust to ourselves, and not to them for the solution of the
problem.' Well, the doctrine is old, being derived from the poets,
who speak in a figure of Oceanus and Tethys ; the truth was
once concealed, but is now revealed by the superior wisdom of
a later generation, and made intelligible to the cobbler, who,
on hearing that all is in motion, and not some things only,
as he ignorantly fancied, may be expected to fall down and
worship his teachers. And the opposite doctrine must not be
forgotten : —
*■ Alone being remains unmoved which is the name for all/
as Parmenides affirms. Thus we are in the midst of the fray ;
both parties are dragging us to their side ; and we are not certain 181
which of them are in the right ; and if neither, then we shall be in
a ridiculous position, having to set up our own opinion against
ancient and famous men.
Let us first approach the river-gods, or patrons of the flux.
When they speak of motion, must they not include two kinds
of motion, change of place and change of nature ? — And all things
must be supposed to have both kinds of motion ; for if not, the
same things would be at rest and in motion, which is contrary 182
to their theory. And did we not say, that all sensations arise
thus : they move about Between the agent and patient together
with a perception, and the patient ceases to be a perceiving
power and becomes a percipient, and the agent a quale instead of
a quality; but neither has any absolute existence? But now we
make the further discovery, that neither white or whiteness, nor
any sense or sensation, can be predicated of an3rthing, for they
are in a perpetual flux. And therefore we must modify the doc-
trine of Theaetetus and Protagoras, by asserting further that
knowledge is and is not sensation ; and of everything we must 183
say equally, that this is and is not, or becomes or becomes not.
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Analysis 183-187. 137
And still the word * this * is not quite correct, for language fails in Tkeaeteius,
the attempt to express their meaning. Analysis.
At the close of the discussion, Theodorus claims to be released
from the argument, according to his agreement. But. Theaetetus
insists that they shall proceed to consider the doctrine of rest.
184 This is declined by Socrates, who has too much reverence for the
great Parmenides lightly to attack him. [We shall find that he
returns to the doctrine of rest in the Sophist; but at present
he does not wish to be diverted from his main purpose, which is,
to deliver Theaetetus of his conception of knowledge.] He pro-
ceeds to interrogate him further. When he says that * knowledge
is perception,' with what does he perceive ? The first answer is,
that he perceives sights with the eye, and sounds with the ear.
This leads Socrates to make the reflection that nice distinctions of
words are sometimes pedantic, but sometimes necessary ; and he
proposes in this case to substitute the word * through * for ' with.'
For the senses are not like the Trojan warriors in the horse, but
185 have a common centre of perception, in which they all meet.
This common principle is able to compare them with one another,
and must therefore be distinct from them (cp. Rep. vii. 523, 524).
And as there are facts of sense which are perceived through the
organs of the body, there are also mathematical and other abstrac-
tions, such as sameness and difference, likeness and unlikeness,
186 which the soul perceives by herself. Being is the most universal
of these abstractions. The good and the beautiful are abstractions
of another kind, which exist in relation and which above all others
the mind perceives in herself, comparing within her past, present,
and future. For example ; we know a thing to be hard or soft by
the touch, of which the perception is given at birth to men and
animals. But the essence of hardness or softness, or the fact
that this hardness is, and is the opposite of softness, is slowly
learned by reflection and experience. Mere perception does not
reach being, and therefore fails of truth ; and therefore has no
share in knowledge. But if so, knowledge is not perception.
187 What then is knowledge? The mind, when occupied by herself
with being, is said to have opinion — shall we say that * Knowledge
is true opinion ' ? But still an old difficulty recurs ; we ask our-
selves, * How is false opinion possible ? ' This^ifficulty may be
stated as follows : —
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138 Analysts 1 88-191.
Theaetetus, Either we know or do not know a thing (for the intermediate 188
Amalysis. processes of learning and forgetting need not at present be con-
sidered) ; and in thinking or having an opinion, we must either
know or not know that which we think, and we cannot know and
be ignorant at the same time ; we cannot confuse one thing which
we do not know, with another thing which we do not know ; nor
can we think that which we do not know to be that which we
know, or that which we know to be that which we do not know.
And what other case is conceivable, upon the supposition that we
either know or do not know all things? Let us try another
answer in the sphere of being : * When a man thinks, and thinks
that which is not.* But would this hold in any parallel case?
Can a man see and see nothing? or hear and hear nothing? or 189
touch and touch nothing ? Must he not see, hear, or touch some
one existing thing? For if he thinks about nothing he does not
think, and not thinking he cannot think falsely. And so the path
of being is closed against us, as well as the path of knowledge.
But may there not be * heterodoxy,* or transference of opinion ;—
I mean, may not one thing be supposed to be another ? Theae-
tetus is confident that this must be *the true falsehood,* when
a man puts good for evil or evil for good. Socrates will not
discourage him by attacking the paradoxical expression 'true
falsehood,* but passes on. The new notion involves a process of
thinking about two things, either together or alternately. And
thipifing jgjji^ ^^'^vfrsirg ^^^^ ininf^ willi hrrsHf, ^^'^^ is 190
carried on. in question and answer, until she no longer doubts,
but determines and forms an opinion. And false opinion consists
in saying to yourself, that one thing is another. But did you ever
say to yourself, that good is evil, or evil good ? Even in sleep,
did you ever imagine that odd was even ? Or did any man in his
senses ever fancy that an ox was a horse, or that two are one ?
So that we can never think one thing to be another; for you
must not meet me with the verbal quibble that one— rrepoi'— is
other— •rrpoy [both 'one* and 'other* in Greek are called 'other'—
lr9pov\. He who has both the two things in his mind, cannot mis-
place them; and he who has only one of them in his mind,
cannot misplace them — on either supposition transplacement is
inconceivabJe.
But perhaps there may still be a sense in which we can think 191
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Analysis 1 91-194. 139
that which we do not know to be that which we know : e. g. ThtaeUtus,
Theaetetus may know Socrates, but at a distance he may mistake Analysis.
another person for him. This process may be conceived by the
help of an image. Let us suppose that every man has in his
mind a block of wax of various qualities, the gift of Memory, the
mother of the Muses ; and on this he receives the seal or stamp
of those sensations and perceptions which he wishes to remember.
That which he succeeds in stamping is remembered and known
by him as long as the impression lasts ; but that, of which the
impression is rubbed out or imperfectly made, is forgotten, and
192 not known. No one can think one thing to be another, when he
has the memorial or seal of both of these in his soul, and a
sensible impression of neither ; or when he knows one and does
not know the other, and has no memorial or seal of the other ; or
when he knows neither ; or when he perceives both, or one and
not the other, or neither ; or when he perceives and knows both,
and identifies what .he perceives with what he knows (this is still
more impossible) ; or when he does not know one, and does not
know and does not perceive the other ; or does not perceive one,
and does not know and does not perceive the other ; or has no
perception or knowledge of either— all these cases must be ex-
cluded. But he may err when he confuses what he knows or
perceives, or what he perceives and does not know, with what he
knows, or what he knows and perceives with what he knows and
perceives.
Theaetetus is unable to follow these distinctions ; which Socrates
proceeds to illustrate by examples, first of all remarking, that
knowledge may exist without perception, and perception without
193 knowledge. I may know Theodonis and Theaetetus and not
see them ; I may see them, and not know them*. * That I under-
stand.' But I could not mistake one for the other if I knew you
both, and had no perception of either ; or if I knew one only, and
perceived neither ; or if I knew and perceived neither, or in any
other of the excluded cases. The only possibility of error is :
ist, when knowing you and Theodorus, and having the impres-
sion of both of you on the waxen block, I, seeing you both imper-
fectly and at a distance, put the foot in the wrong shoe —that is to
194 say, put the seal or stamp on the wrong object: or 2ndly, when
knowing both of you I only see one; or when, seeing and
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140 Analysts 1 94- 19 7.
Theaeteius, knowing you both, I fail to identify the impression and the object.
Analysis. But there could be no error when perception and knowledge
correspond.
The waxen block in the heart of a man's soul, as I may say in the
words of Homer, who played upon the words ia\p and «n7p<$£, may be
smooth and deep, and large enough, and then the signs are clearly
marked and lasting, and do not get confused. But in the ' hairy
heart,' as the all-wise poet sings, when the wax is muddy or hard
or moist, there is a corresponding confusion and want of reten-
tiveness ; in the muddy and impure there is indistinctness, and 195
still more in the hard, for there the impressions have no depth of
wax, and in the moist they are too soon effaced. Yet greater is
the indistinctness when they are all jolted together in a little soul,
which is narrow and has no room. These are the sort of natures
which have false opinion ; from stupidity they see and hear and
think amiss ; and this is falsehood and ignorance. Error, then, is
a confusion of thought and sense.
Theaetetus is delighted with this explanation. But Socrates
has no sooner found the new solution than he sinks into a fit of
despondency. For an objection occurs to him : — May there not
be errors where there is no confusion of mind and sense ? e. g. in
numbers. No one can confuse the man whom he has in his 196
thoughts with the horse which he has in his thoughts, but he may
err in the addition of five and seven. And observe that these are
purely mental conceptions. Thus we are involved once more in
the dilemma of saying, either that there is no such thing as false
« opinion, or that a man knows what he does not know.
We are at our wit's end, and may therefore be excused for
making a bold diversion. AH this time we have been repeating
the words * know*,' * understand,' yet we do not know what know-
ledge is. * Why, Socrates, how can you argue at all without using
them ? ' Nay, but the true hero of dialectic would have forbidden 197
me to use them until I had explained them. And I must explain
them now. The verb * to know ' has two senses, to have and to
possess knowledge, and I distinguish * having ' from * possessing.'
A man may possess a garment which he does not wear ; or he
may have wild birds in an a^viary; these in one sense he pos-
sesses, and in another he has none of them. Let this aviary be
an image of the mind, as the waxen block was; when we arc
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Analysis 197-203. 141
young, the aviary is empty ; after a time the birds are put in ; for Theaetttus,
under this figure we may describe different forms of know- Analysis.
ledge; — there are some of them in groups, and some single,
198 which are flying about everjnvhere; and let us suppose a hunt
after the science of odd and even, or some other science. The
possession of the birds is clearly not the same as the having them
in the hand. And the original chase of them is not the same as
taking them in the hand when they are already caged.
199 This distinction between use and possession saves us from the
absurdity of supposing that we do not know what we know,
because we may know in one sense, i. e. possess, what we do not
know in another, i. e. use. But have we not escaped one difficulty
only to encounter a greater ? For how can the exchange of two
kinds of knowledge ever become false opinion ? As well might we
suppose that ignorance could make a man know, or that blindness
could make him see. Theaetetus suggests that in the aviary there
may be flying about mock birds, or forms of ignorance, and we
put forth our hands and grasp ignorance, when we are intending
aco to grasp knowledge. But how can he who knows the forms of
knowledge and the forms of ignorance imagine one to be the
other? Is there some other form of knowledge which distin-
guishes them? and another, and another? Thus we go round
and round in a circle and make no progress.
All this confusion arises out of our attempt to explain false
opinion without having explained knowledge. What then is
knowledge? Theaetetus repeats that knowledge is true opinion.
201 But this seems to be refuted by the instance of orators and
judges. For surely the orator cannot convey a true knowledge of
crimes at which the judges were not present; he can only
persuade them, and the judge may form a true opinion and truly
judge. But if true opinion were knowledge they could not have
judged without knowledge.
Once more. Theaetetus offers a definition which he has heard :
Knowledge is true opinion accompanied by definition or expla-
nation. Socrates has had a similar dream, and has further heard
202 that the first elements are names only, and that definition or
explanation begins when they are combined ; the letters are
203 unknown, the syllables or combinations are known. But this
new hypothesis when tested by the letters of the alphabet is
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142 Analysis 203-209.
Theaetetus. found to break down. The first syllable of Socrates* name is SO.
Amalysis. But what is SO ? Two letters, S and O, a sibilant and a vowel, of
which no further explanation can be given. And how can any
one be ignorant of either of them, and yet know both of them ?
There is, however, another alternative : — ^We may suppose that
the syllable has a separate form or idea distinct from the letters
or parts. The all of the parts may not be the whole. Theaetetus
is very much inclined to adopt this suggestion, but when interro- 204
gated by Socrates he is unable to draw any distinction between
the whole and all the parts. And if the syllables have no parts, 205
then they are those original elements of which there is no ex-
planation. But how can the syllable be known if the letter
remains unknown ? In learning to read as children, we are first 206
taught the letters and then the syllables. And in music, the
notes, which are the letters, have a much more distinct meaning
to us than the combination of them.
Once more, then, we must ask the meaning of the statement,
that * Knowledge is right opinion, accompanied by explanation or
definition.' Explanation may mean, (i) the reflection or expres-
sion of a man's thoughts— but every man who is not deaf and
dumb is able to express his thoughts— or (a) the enumeration of
the elements of which anything is composed. A man may have 207
a true opinion about a waggon, but then, and then only, has he
knowledge of a waggon when he is able to enumerate the
hundred planks of Hesiod. Or he may know the syllables of the
name Theaetetus, but not the letters ; yet not until he knows both
can he be said to have knowledge as well as opinion. But on the
other hand he may know the syllable * The * in the name Theaete-
tus, yet he may be mistaken about the same syllable in the name 208
Theodorus, and in learning to read we often make such mistakes.
And even if he could write out all the letters and syllables of
your name in order, still he would only have right opinion. Yet
there may be a third meaning of the definition, besides the image
or expression of the mind, and the enumeration of the elements,
viz. (3) perception of difference.
For example, I may see a man who has eyes, nose, and mouth ; 209
— that will not distinguish him from any other man. Or he may
have a snub-nose and prominent eyes ;— that will not distinguish
him from myself and you and others who are like me. But
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1
Analysis 209, 210.
143
when I see a certain kind of snub-nosedness, then I recognize Theaitetus,
Theaetetus. And having this sign of difference, I have knowledge. Amalysis.
But have I knowledge or opinion of this diflference ? If I have only
opinion I have not knowledge ; if I have knowledge we 'assume
210 a disputed term; for knowledge will have to be defined as right
opinion with knowledge of difference.
And so, Theaetetus, knowledge is neither perception nor true
opinion, nor yet definition accompanying true opinion. And
I have shown that the children of your brain are not worth
rearing. Are you still in labour, or have you brought all you
have to say about knowledge to the birth ? If you have any more
thoughts, you will be the better for having got rid of these ; or
if you have none, you will be the better for not fancying that
you know what you do not know. Observe the limits of my
art, which, like my mother's, is an art of midwifery; I do
not pretend to compare with the good and wise of this and
other ages.
And now I go to meet Meletus at the porch of the King
Archon ; but to-morrow I shall hope to see you again, Theodorus,
at this place.
I. The saying of Theaetetus, that * Knowledge is sensible per- Introduc-
ception,' may be assumed to be a current philosophical opinion of
the age. *The ancients,' as Aristotle (De Anim. iii. 3) says, citing
a verse of Empedocles, * affirmed knowledge to be the same as
perception.* We may now examine these words, first, with
reference to their place in the history of philosophy, and secondly,
in relation to modern speculations.
(u) In the age of Socrates the mind was passing from the object
to the subject. The same impulse which a century before had led
men to form conceptions of the world, now led them to frame
general notions of the human faculties and feelings, such as
memory, opinion, and the like. The simplest of these is sensa-
tion, or sensible perception, by which Plato seems to mean the
generalized notion of feelings and impressions of sense, without
determining whether they are conscious or not.
The theory that * Knowledge is sensible perception* is the
antithesis of that which derives knowledge from the mind (Theaet.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
144 The theory that Knowledge is Perception.
Theaetettis. 185), or which assumes the existence of ideas independent of the
Imtroduc- mind (Parm. 134). Yet from their extreme abstraction these
"** ' theories do not represent the opposite poles of thought in the
same way that the corresponding differences would in modern
philosophy. The most ideal and the most sensational have a
tendency to pass into one another; Heracleitus, like his great
successor Hegel, has both aspects. The Eleatic isolation of Being
and the Megarian or Cynic isolation of individuals are placed in
the same class by Plato (Soph. 251 C, D) ; and the same principle
which is the symbol of motion to one mind is the symbol of rest
to another. The Atomists, who are sometimes regarded as the
Materialists of Plato, denied the reality of sensation. And in the
ancient as well as the modern world there were reactions from
theory to experience, from ideas to sense. This is a point of
view from which the philosophy of sensation presented great
attraction to the ancient thinker. Amid the conflict of ideas and
the variety of opinions, the impression of sense remained certain
and uniform. Hardness, softness, cold, heat, &c. are not abso-
lutely the same to different persons (cp. 171 D), but the art of
measuring could at any rate reduce them all to definite natures
(Rep. X. 60a D). Thus the doctrine that knowledge is perception
supplies or seems to supply a firm standing ground. Like the
other notions of the earlier Greek philosophy, it was held in
a very simple way, without much basis of reasoning, and without
suggesting the questions which naturally arise in our own minds
on the same subject.
0) The fixedness of impressions of sense furnishes a link of
connection between ancient and modern philosophy. The modern
thinker often repeats the parallel axiom, *A11 knowledge is ex-
perience.' He means to say that the outward and not the inward
is both the original source and the final criterion of truth, because
the outward can be observed and analyzed ; the inward is only
known by external results, and is dimly perceived by each man
for himself. In what does this differ from the saying of Theae-
tetus ? Chiefly in this— that the modern term * experience,' while
implying a point of departure in sense and a return to sense, also
includes all the processes of reasoning and imagination which
have intervened. The necessary connexion between them by no
means affords a measure of the relative degree of importance
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Relativity of knowledge not the same with uncertainty. 1 45
which is to be ascribed to either element For the inductive Theaetetus,
portion of any science may be small, as in mathematics or ethics, intboduc-
compared with that which the mind has attained by reasoning and ™*'**
reflection on a very few facts. />^
II. The saying that * All knowledge is sensation ' is identified by
Plato with the Protagorean thesis that 'Man is the measure of
all things.' The interpretation which Protagoras himself is
supp>osed to give of these latter words is : ' Things are to me as
they appear to me, and to you as they appear to you.' But
there remains still an ambiguity both in the text and in the
explanation, which has tobe cileaTed up. Did Protagoras merely
mean to assert the relativity of knowledge to the human mind ?
or did he mean to deny that there is an objective standard of
truth?
These two questions have not been always clearly distinguished;
the relativity of knowledge has been sometimes confounded with
uncertainty. The untutored mind is apt to suppose that objects
exist independently of the human faculties, because they really
exist independently of the faculties of any individual. In the
same way, knowledge appears to be a body of truths stored up in
books, which when once ascertained are independent of the
discoverer. Further consideration shows us that these truths
are not really independent of the mind ; there is an adaptation of
one to the other, of the eye to the object of sense, of the mind to
the conception. There would be no world, if there neither were
nor ever had been any one to perceive the world. A slight effort
of reflection enables us to understand this; but no effort of
reflection will enable us to pass beyond the limits of our own
faculties, or to imagine the relation or adaptation of objects to
the mind to be different from that of which we have experience.
There are certain laws of language and logic to which we are
compelled to conform, and to which our ideas naturally adapt
themselves ; and we can no more get rid of them than we can
cease to be ourselves. The absolute and infinite, whether ex-
plained as self-existence, or as the totality of human thought, or
as the Divine nature, if known to us at all, cannot escape from the
category of relation.
But because knowledge is subjective or relative to the mind, we
are not to suppose that we are therefore deprived of any of the
VOL. IV. L
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146 Relativity of knowledge a dogma of Protagoras.
Theaeutus, tests or criteria of truth. One man still remains wiser than
Ihtkoduc another, a more accurate observer and relater of facts, a truer
measure of the proportions of knowledge. The nature of testi-
mony is not altered, nor the verification of causes by prescribed
methods less certain. Again, the truth must often come to a man
through others, according to the measure of his capacity and
education. But neither does this affect the testimony, whether
written or oral, which he knows by experience to be trustworthy.
He cannot escape from the laws of his own mind ; and he cannot
escape from the further accident of being dependent for his
knowledge on others. But still this is no reason why he should
always be in doubt ; of many personal, of many historical and
scientific facts he may be absolutely assured. And having such
a mass of acknowledged truth in the mathematical and physical,
not to speak of the moral sciences, the moderns have certainly
no reason to acquiesce in the statement that truth is appearance
only, or that there is no difference between appearance and
truth. f
The relativity of knowledge is a truism to us, but was a great
psychological discovery in the fiflh century before Christ. Of this
discovery, the first distinct assertion is contained in the thesis of
Protagoras. Probably he had no intention either of denying
or affirming an objective standard of truth. He did not consider
whether man in the higher or man in the lower sense was
a * measure of all things.* Like other great thinkers, he was
absorbed with one idea, and that idea was the absoluteness of
perception. Like Socrates, he seemed to see that philosophy
must be brought back from * nature * to * truth,* from the world
to man. But he did not stop to analyze whether he meant * man *
in the concrete or man in the abstract, any man or some men,
* quod semper quod ubique * or individual private judgment. Such
an analysis lay beyond his sphere of thought ; the age before
Socrates had not arrived at these distinctions. Like the C3mics,
again, he discarded knowledge in any higher sense than per-
ception. For * truer * or * wiser * he substituted the word * better,'
and is not unwilling to admit that both states and individuals are
capable of practical improvement. But this improvement does
not arise from intellectual enlightenment, nor yet from the
exertion of the will, but from a change of circumstances and
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Connexion of Protagoras and Heracleitus. 147
impressions; and he who can effect this change in himself or Theoitetus.
others may be deemed a philosopher. In the mode of effecting it, iKrmoDuc
while agreeing with Socrates and the Cynics in the importance
which he attaches to practical life, he is at variance with both
of them. To suppose that practice can be divorced from specu-
lation, or that we may do good without caring about truth, is
by no means singular, either in philosophy or life. The singu-
larity of this, as of some other (so-called) sophistical doctrines,
is the frankness with which they are avowed, instead of being
veiled, as in modern times, under ambiguous and convenient
phrases.
Plato appears to treat Protagoras much as he himself is treated
by Aristotle; that is to say, he does not attempt to understand
him from his own point of view. But he entangles him in the
meshes of a more advanced logic. To which Protagoras is sup-
posed to reply by Megarian quibbles, which destroy logic, * Not
only man, but each man, and each man at each moment.* In
the arguments about sight and memory there is a palpable
unfairness which is worthy of the great 'brainless brothers,*
Euthydemus and Dionysodorus, and may be compared with the
^yK€ieaKvftfjJvos (* obvelatus *) of Eubulides. For he who sees with
one eye only cannot be truly said both to see and not to see;
nor is memory, which is liable to forget, the immediate knowledge
to which Protagoras applies the term. Theodorus justly charges
Socrates with going beyond the truth ; and Protagoras has equally
right on his side when he protests against Socrates arguing from
the common use of words, which *the vulgar pervert in all manner
of ways.*
III. The theory of Protagoras is connected by Aristotle as well
as Plato with the flux of Heracleitus. But Aristotle is only
following Plato, and Plato, as we have already seen, did not
mean to imply that such a connexion was admitted by Protagoras
himself. His metaphysical genius saw or seemed to see a common
tendency in them, just as the modem historian of ancient phi-
losophy might perceive a parallelism between two thinkers of
which they were probably unconscious themselves. We must
remember throughout that Plato is not speaking of Heracleitus,
but of the Heracliteans, who succeeded him ; nor of the great
original ideas of the master, but of the Eristic into which they had
L 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
148 Heracleitus misunderstood by his followers.
Theaeteius, degenerated a hundred years later. There is nothing in the
iwTRODuc- fragments of Heracleitus which at all justifies Plato's account
of him. His philosophy may be resolved into two elements —
first, change, secondly, law or measure pervading the change:
these he saw everywhere, and oflen expressed in strange mytho-
logical symbols. But he has no analysis of sensible perception
such as Plato attributes to hiin ; nor is there any reason to
suppose that he pushed his philosophy into that absolute negation
in which Heracliteanism was sunk in the age of Plato. He never
said that * change means every sort of change ; * and he expressly
distinguished between * the general and particular understanding.'
Like a poet, he surveyed the elements of mythology, nature,
thought, which lay before him, and sometimes by the light of
genius he saw or seemed to see a mysterious principle working
behind them. But as has been the case with other great philo-
sophers, and with Plato and Aristotle themselves, what was really
permanent and original could not be understood by the next
generation, while a perverted logic carried out his chance ex-
pressions with an illogical consistency. His simple and noble
thoughts, like those of the great Eleatic, soon degenerated into
a mere strife of words. And when thus reduced to mere words,
they seem to have exercised a far wider influence in the cities
of Ionia (where the people * were mad about them ') than in the
life-time of Heracleitus— a phenomenon which, though at first
sight singular, is not without a parallel in the history of philosophy
and theology.
It is this perverted form of the Heraclitean philosophy which
is supposed to effect the final overthrow of Protagorean sensa-
tionalism. For if all things are changing at every moment, in
all sorts of ways, then there is nothing fixed or defined at all,
and therefore no sensible perception, nor any true word by which
that or an5rthing else can be described. Of course Protagoras
would not have admitted the justice of this argument any more
than Heracleitus would have acknowledged the 'uneducated
fanatics' who appealed to his writings. He might have said,
* The excellent Socrates has first confused me with Heracleitus,
and Heracleitus with his Ephesian successors, and has then
disproved the existence both of knowledge and sensation. But
I am not responsible for what I never said, nor will I admit
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Knowledge more than sensible perception. 149
that my common-sense account of knowledge can be overthrown Thtaeutm.
by unintelligible Heraclitean paradoxes.' Imtbodoc-
IV. Still at the bottom of the arguments there remains a truth,
that knowledge is something more than sensible perception ; —
this alone would not distinguish man from a tadpole. The
absoluteness of sensations at each moment destroys the very
consciousness of sensations (cp. Phileb. ai D), or the power of
comparing them. The senses are not mere holes in a * Trojan
horse/ but the organs of a presiding nature, in which they meet
A great advance has been made in psychology when the senses
are recognized as organs of sense, and we are admitted to see
or feel 'through them' and not *by them,* a distinction of words
which, as Socrates observes, is by no means pedantic. A still
further step has been made when the most abstract notions, such
as Being and Not-b^ing, sameness and difference, unity and
plurality, are acknowledged to be the creations of the mind
herself, working upon the feelings or impressions of sense. In
this manner Plato describes the process of acquiring them, in
the words (186 D) * Knowledge consists not in the feelings or
affections (ira^^acri), but in the process of reasoning about them
((rvXXoytcTftf).' Here, as in the Parmenides (13a A), he means
something not really different from generalization. As in the
Sophist, he is laying the foundation of a rational psychology,
which is to supersede the Platonic reminiscence of Ideas as
well as the Eleatic Being and the individualism of Megarians
and Cynics.
V. Having rejected the doctrine that * Knowledge is perception,'
we now proceed to look for a definition of knowledge in the sphere
of opinion. But here we are met by a singular difficulty : How is
false opinion possible? For we must either know or not know
that which is presented to the mine} or to sense. We of course
should answer at once : ' No ; the alternative is not necessary, for
there may be degrees of knowledge ; and we may know and have
forgotten, or we may be learning, or we may have a general but
not a particular knowledge, or we may know but not be able to
explain;' and many other ways may be imagined in which we
know and do not know at the same time. But these answers
belong to a later stage of metaphysical discussion ; whereas the
difficulty in question naturally arises owing to the childhood of
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1 50 Knowings not knowings and the intermediate sphere.
Theaetetus. the human mind, like the parallel difficulty respecting Not-being.
Iktroduc- Men had only recently arrived at the notion of opinion; they
" *** could not at once define the true and pass beyond into the false.
The very word ^6^a was full of ambiguity, being sometimes, as in
the Eleatic philosophy, applied to the sensible world, and again
used in the more ordinary sense of opinion. There is no con-
nexion between sensible app>earance and probability, and yet both
of them met in the word d<Jfa, and could hardly be disengaged from
one another in the mind of the Greek living in the fifth or fourth
century b. c To this was often added, as at the end of the fifth
book of the Republic, the idea of relation, which is equally dis-
tinct from either of them ; also a fourth notion, the conclusion of
the dialectical process, the making up of the mind after she has
been * talking to herself (Theat. 190).
We are not then surprised that the sphere of opinion and of
Not-being should be a dusky, half-lighted place (Rep. v. p. 478),
belonging neither to the old world of sense and imagination, nor
to the new world of reflection and reason. Plato attempts to clear
up this darkness. In his accustomed manner he passes from the
lower to the higher, without omitting the intermediate stages.
This appears to be the reason why he seeks for the definition of
knowledge first in the sphere of opinion. Hereafter we shall find
that something more than opinion is required.
False opinion is explained by Plato at first as a confusion of
mind and sense, which arises when the impression on the mind
does not correspond to the impression made on the senses. It is
obvious that this explanation (supposing the distinction between
impressions on the mind and impressions on the senses to be
admitted) does not account for all forms of error ; and Plato has
excluded himself from the consideration of the greater number, by
designedly omitting the intermediate processes of learning and
forgetting ; nor does he include fallacies in the use of language or
erroneous inferences. But he is struck by one possibility of error,
which is not covered by his theory, viz. errors in arithmetic. For
in numbers and calculation there is no combination of thought
and sense, and yet errors may often happen. Hence he is led to
discard the explanation which might nevertheless have been sup-
posed to hold good (for anything which he says to the contrary)
as a rationale of error, in the case of facts derived from sense.
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Unsatisfactory attempts to explain false opinion. 151
Another attempt is made to explain false opinion by assigning TkeaetUus,
to error a sort of positive existence. But error or ignorance is Imtkoduc,
TIOM.
essentially negative— a not-knowing ; if we knew an error, we
should be no longer in error. We may veil our difficulty under
figures of speech, but these, although telling arguments with the
multitude, can never be the real foundation of a system of psy-
chology. Only they lead us to dwell upon mental phenomena
which if expressed in an abstract form would not be realized by
us at all. The figure of the mind receiving impressions is one of
those images which have rooted themselves for ever in language.
It may or may not be a * gracious aid ' to thought ; but it cannot be
got rid of. The other figure of the enclosure is also remarkable
as afibrding the first hint of universal all-pervading ideas,— a notion
fiirther carried out in the Sophist. This is impUed in the birds,
some in flocks, some solitary, which fly about anywhere and
everywhere. Plato discards both figures, as not really solving
the question which to us appears so simple : ' How do we make
mistakes ? * The failure of the enquiry seems to show that we
should return to knowledge, and begin with that ; and we may
afterwards proceed, with a better hope of success, to the examina-
tion of opinion.
But is true opinion really distinct from knowledge ? The differ-
ence between these he seeks to establish by an argument, which
to us appears singular and unsatisfactory. The existence of true
opinion is proved by the rhetoric of the law courts, which cannot
give knowledge, but may give true opinion. The rhetorician cannot
put the judge or juror in possession of all the facts which prove
an act of violence, but he may truly persuade them of the commis-
sion of such an act. Here the idea of true opinion seems to be a
right conclusion from imperfect knowledge. But the correctness
of such an opinion will be purely accidental ; and is really the
effect of one man, who has the means of knowing, persuading
another who has not. Plato would have done better if he had
said that true opinion was a contradiction in terms.
Assuming the distinction between knowledge and opinion,
Theaetetus, in answer to Socrates, proceeds to define knowledge as
true opinion, with definite or rational explanation. This Socrates
identifies with another and different theory, of those who assert
that knowledge first begins with a proposition.
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152 We must begin by explaining knowledge.
Theaetetus, The elements may be perceived by sense, but they are names,
Imtroduc- and cannot be defined. When we assign to them some predicate,
they first begin to have a meaning {hvoyAr^iv or/iTrXox^ X<$yov ohaia).
This seems equivalent to sa)ring, that the individuals of sense
become the subject of knowledge when they are regarded as they
are in nature in relation to other individuals.
Yet we feel a difficulty in following this new hypothesis. For
must not opinion be equally expressed in a proposition ? The
difference between true and false opinion is not the difference
between the particular and the universal, but between the true
universal and the false. Thought may be as much at fault as
sight. When we place individuals under a class, or assign to
them attributes, this is not knowledge, but a very rudimentary
process of thought ; the first generalization of all, without which
language would be impossible. And has Plato kept altogether
clear of a confusion, which the analogous word X<5yoff tends to
create, of a proposition and a definition? And is not the con-
fusion increased by the use of the analogous term * elements,' or
* letters * ? For there is no real resemblance between the relation
of letters to a syllable, and of the terms to a proposition.
Plato, in the spirit of the Megarian philosophy, soon discovers a
flaw in the explanation. For how can we know a compound of
which the simple elements are unknown to us? Can two un-
knowns make a known ? Can a whole be something different
from the parts ? The answer of experience is that they can ; for
we may know a compound, which we are unable to analyze into
its elements ; and all the parts, when united, may be more than
all the parts separated : e. g. the number four, or any other num-
ber, is more than the units which are contained in it ; any chemicaf
compound is more than and different from the simple elements.
But ancient philosophy in this, as in many other instances, pro-
ceeding by the path of mental analysis, was perplexed by doubts
which warred against the plainest facts.
Three attempts to explain the new definition of knowledge still
remain to be considered. They all of them turn on the explana-
tion of K6yo£, The first account of the meaning of the word is the
reflection of thought in speech — a sort of nominalism ; * La science
est une langue bien faite.' But anybody who is not dumb can say
what he thinks; therefore mere speech cannot be knowledge.
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TIOII.
The three explanations of knowledge. 153
And yet we may observe, that there is in this explanation an ThtaHetm,
element of truth which is not recognized by Plato ; viz. that truth iMrmoouc-
and thought are inseparable from language, although mere expres-
sion in words is not truth. The second explanation of X<$yo( is the
enumeration of the elementary parts of the complex whole. But
this is only definition accompanied with right opinion, and does
not yet attain to the certainty of knowledge. Plato does not men-
tion the greater objection, which is, that the enumeration of
particulars is endless ; such a definition would be based on no
principle, and would not help us at all in gaining a common idea.
The third is the best explanation,— the possession of a character-
istic mark, which seems to answer to the logical definition by
genus and difference. But this, again, is equally necessary for
right opinion ; and we have already determined, although not on
very satisfactory grounds, that knowledge must be distinguished
from opinion. A better distinction is drawn between them in the
Timaeus (p. 51 E). They might be opposed as philosophy and
rhetoric, and as conversant respectively with necessary and con-
tingent matter. But no true idea of the nature of either of them,
or of their relation to one another, could be framed until science
obtained a content. The ancient philosophers in the age of Plato
thought of science only as pure abstraction, and to this opinion
stood in no relation.
Like Theaetetus, we have attained to no definite result. But an
interesting phase of ancient philosophy has passed before us.
And the negative result is not to be despised. For on certain
subjects, and in certain states of knowledge, the work of negation
or clearing the ground must go on, perhaps for a generation,
before the new structure can begin to rise. Plato saw the neces-
sity of combating the illogical logic of the Megarians and Eristics.
For the completion of the edifice, he makes preparation in the
Theaetetus, and crowns the work in the Sophist
Many (i) fine expressions, and (2) remarks full of wisdom, (3)
also germs of a metaphysic of the future, are scattered up and
down in the dialogue. Such, for example, as (i) the comparison
of Theaetetus' progress in learning to the * noiseless flow of a river
of oil ' ; the satirical touch, * flavouring a sauce or fawning speech ' ;
or the remarkable expression, * full of impure dialectic * ; or the
lively images under which the argument is described, — * the flood
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TIOK.
1 54 Striking images and forms of expression.
TheaeUius, of arguments pouring in/ the fresh discussions * bursting in like a
Introduo band of revellers.' (2) As illustrations of the second head, may be
cited the remark of Socrates, that * distinctions of words, although
sometimes pedantic, are also necessary ' ; or the fine touch in the
character of the lawyer, that * dangers came upon him when the
tenderness of youth was unequal to them * ; or the description of the
manner in which the spirit is broken in a wicked man who listens
to reproof until he becomes like a child ; or the punishment of the
wicked, which is not physical suffering, but the perpetual com-
panionship of evil (cp. Gorgias) ; or the saying, often repeated by
Aristotle and others, that * philosophy begins in wonder, for Iris
is the child of Thaumas * ; or the superb contempt with which the
philosopher takes down the pride of wealthy landed proprietors by
comparison of the whole earth. (3) Important metaphysical ideas
are : a. the conception of thought, as the mind talking to herself;
b, the notion of a common sense, developed further by Aristotle,
and the explicit declaration, that the mind gains her conceptions
of Being, sameness, number, and the like, from reflection on her-
self; c. the excellent distinction of Theaetetus (which Socrates,
speaking with emphasis, Meaves to grow') between seeing the
forms or hearing the sounds of words in a foreign language, and
understanding the meaning of them ; and d, the distinction of
Socrates himself between ' having ' and ' possessing ' knowledge,
in which the answer to the whole discussion appears to be con-
tained.
There is a difference between ancient and modern psychology,
and we have a difficulty in explaining one in the terms of the
other. To us the inward and outward sense and the inward and
outward worlds of which they are the organs are parted by a wall,
and appear as if they could never be confounded. The mind is
endued with faculties, habits, instincts, and a personality or con-
sciousness in which they are bound together. Over against these
are placed forms, colours, external bodies coming into contact with
our own body. We speak of a subject which is ourselves, of an
object which is all the rest These are separable in thought, but
united in any act of sensation, reflection, or volition. As there are
various degrees in which the mind may enter into or be abstracted
from the operations of sense, so there are various points at which
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Modern psychology : infltunce of language. 155
this separation or union may be supposed to occiu*. And within Thioitetus.
the sphere of mind the analogy of sense reappears ; and we dis- intsoduc-
tinguish not only external objects, but objects of will and of "**""
knowledge which we contrast with them. These again are com-
prehended in a higher object, which reunites with the subject.
A multitude of abstractions are created by the efforts of successive
thinkers which become logical determinations ; and they have to
be arranged in order, before the scheme of thought is complete.
The framework of the human intellect is not the peculium of an
individual, but the joint work of many who are of all ages and
countries. What we are in mind is due, not merely to our
physical, but to our mental antecedents which we trace in history,
and more especially in the history of philosophy. Nor can mental
phenomena be truly explained either by physiology or by the
observation of consciousness apart from their history. They have
a growth of their own, like the growth of a flower, a tree, a human
being. They may be conceived as of themselves constituting a
common mind, and having a sort of personal identity in which
they coexist.
So comprehensive is modem psychology, seeming to aim at
constructing anew the entire world of thought. And prior to or
simultaneously with this construction a negative process has to be
carried on, a clearing away of useless abstractions which we have
inherited from the past Many erroneous conceptions of the mind
derived from former philosophies have found their way into lan-
guage, and we with difficulty disengage ourselves from them.
Mere figures of speech have unconsciously influenced the minds
of great thinkers. Also there are some distinctions, as, for ex-
ample, that of the will and of the reason, and of the moral and
intellectual faculties, which are carried further than is justified by
experience. Any separation of things which we cannot see or
exactly define, though it may be necessary, is a fertile source
of error. The division of the mind into faculties or powers or
virtues is too deeply rooted in language to be got rid of, but it
gives a false impression. For if we reflect on ourselves we see
that all our faculties easily pass into one another, and are bound
together in a single mind or consciousness ; but this mental unity
is apt to be concealed from us by the distinctions of language.
A profusion of words and ideas has obscured rather than
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156 Figures of speech danger otis.
Theaetetus, enlightened mental science. It is hard to say how many fallacies
Introouc- have arisen from the representation of the mind as a box, as a
'tabula rasa/ a book, a mirror, and the like. It is remarkable
how Plato in the Theaetetus, after having indulged in the figure
of the waxen tablet and the decoy, afterwards discards them.
The mind is also represented by another class of images, as the
spring of a watch, a motive power, a breath, a stream, a succes-
sion of points or moments. As Plato remarks in the Cratylus,
words expressive of motion as well as of rest are employed to
describe the faculties and operations of the mind ; and in these
there is contained another store of fallacies. Some shadow or
reflection of the body seems always to adhere to our thoughts
about ourselves, and mental processes are hardly distinguished
in language from bodily ones. To see or perceive are used in-
differently of both ; the words intuition, moral sense, common
sense, the mind's eye, are figures of speech transferred from one
to the other. And many other words used in early poetry or in
sacred writings to express the works of mind have a material-
istic sound ; for old mythology was allied to sense, and the
distinction of matter and mind had not as yet arisen. Thus
materialism receives an illusive aid from language ; and both in
philosophy and religion the imaginary figure or association easily
takes the place of real knowledge.
Again, there is the illusion of looking into our own minds as if
our thoughts or feelings were written down in a book. This is
another figure of speech, which might be appropriately termed
'the fallacy of the looking-glass.' We cannot look at the mind
unless we have the eye which sees, and we can only look, not
into, but out of the mind at the thoughts, words, actions of our-
selves and others. What we dimly recognize within us is not
experience, but rather the suggestion of an experience, which we
may gather, if we will, from the observation of the world. The
memory has but a feeble recollection of what we were saying or
doing a few weeks or a few months ago, and still less of what we
were thinking or feeling. This is one among many reasons why
there is so little self-knowledge among mankind; they do not
carry with them the thought of what they are or have been. The
so-called * facts of consciousness* are equally evanescent; they
are facts which nobody ever saw, and which can neither be
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TIOM.
Growth of mental analysis. 157
defined nor described. Of the three laws of thought the first (All Theaeteius.
A= A) is an identical proposition— that is to say, a mere word or iwraoouc
symbol claiming to be a proposition : the two others (Nothing can
be A and not A, and Everything is either A or not A) are untrue,
because they exclude degrees and also the mixed modes and
double aspects under which truth is so often presented to us. To
assert that man is man is unmeaning ; to say that he is free or
necessary and cannot be both is a half truth only. These are
a few of the entanglements which impede the natural course of
human thought Lastly, there is the fallacy which lies still
deeper, of regarding the individual mind apart from the universal,
or either, as a self-existent entity apart from the ideas which are
contained in them.
In ancient philosophies the analysis of the mind is still rudi-
mentary and imperfect. It naturally began with an effort to
disengage the universal from sense— this was the first lifting up
of the mist It wavered between object and subject, passing
imperceptibly from one or Being to mind and thought. Appear-
ance in the outward object was for a time indistinguishable from
opinion in the subject. At length mankind spoke of knowing as
well as of opining or perceiving. But when the word * knowledge '
was found how was it to be explained or defined ? It was not an
error, it was a step in the right direction, when Protagoras said
that ' Man is the measure of all things,' and that ' All knowledge is
perception.' This was the subjective which corresponded to the
objective * All is flux.' But the thoughts of men deepened, and
soon they began to be aware that knowledge was neither sense,
nor yet opinion — ^with or without explanation ; nor the expression
of thought, nor the enumeration of parts, nor the addition of
characteristic marks. Motion and rest were equally ill adapted to
express its nature, although both must in some sense be attributed
to it ; it might be described more truly as the mind conversing
with herself; the discourse of reason ; the hymn of dialectic, the
science of relations, of ideas, of the so-called arts and sciences, of
the one, of the good, of the all : — this is the way along which Plato
is leading us in his later dialogues. In its higher signification it
was the knowledge, not of men, but of gods, perfect and all
sufficing: — like other ideals always passing out of sight, and
nevertheless present to the mind of Aristotle as well as Plato, and
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158 Temporary returns to sensationalism.
Thetutetus. the reality to which they were both tending. For Aristotle as
Iktroduc. well as Plato would in modem phraseology have been termed
a mystic ; and like him would have defined the higher philosophy
to be * Knowledge of being or essence,' — words to which in our
own day we have a difficulty in attaching a meaning.
Yet, in spite of Plato and his followers, mankind have again and
again returned to a sensational philosophy. As to some of the
early thinkers, amid the fleetings of sensible objects, ideas alone
seemed to be fixed, so to a later generation amid the fluctuation of
philosophical opinions the only fixed points appeared to be out-
ward objects. Any pretence of knowledge which went beyond
them implied logical processes, of the correctness of which they
had no assurance and which at best were only probable. The
mind, tired of wandering, sought to rest on firm ground ; when
the idols of philosophy and language were stripped off, the
perception of outward objects alone remained. The ancient Epi-
cureans never asked whether the comparison of these with one
another did not involve principles of another kind which were
above and beyond them. In like manner the modem inductive
philosophy forgot to enquire into the meaning of experience, and
did not attempt to form a conception of outward objects apart
from the mind, or of the mind apart from them. Soon objects of
sense were merged in sensations and feelings, but feelings and
sensations were still unanalyzed. At last we return to the
doctrine attributed by Plato to Protagoras, that the mind is only
a succession of momentary perceptions. At this point the
modem philosophy of experience forms an alliance with ancient
scepticism.
The higher truths of philosophy and religion are very far
removed from sense. Admitting that, like all other knowledge,
they are derived from experience, and that experience is ulti-
mately resolvable into facts which come to us through the eye and
ear, still their origin is a mere accident which has nothing to do
with their true nature. They are universal and unseen ; they
belong to all times— past, present, and future. Any worthy notion
of mind or reason includes them. The proof of them is, ist, their
comprehensiveness and consistency with one another; 2ndly,
their agreement with history and experience. But sensation is of
the present only, is isolated, is and is not in successive moments.
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The relation of physiology to psychology, 159
It takes the passing hour as it comes, following the lead of the eye TheaeMus,
or ear instead of the command of reason. It is a faculty which introduc-
man has in common with the animals, and in which he is inferior "^"'
to many of them. The importance of the senses in us is that
they are the apertures of the mind, doors and windows through
which we take in and make our own the materials of knowledge.
Regarded in any other point of view sensation is of all mental
acts the most trivial and superficial. Hence the term 'sensa-
tional ' is rightly used to express what is shallow in thought and
feeling.
We propose in what follows, first of all, like Plato in the
Theaetetus, to analyse sensation, and secondly to trace the
connexion between theories of sensation and a sensational or
Epicurean philosophy.
§ I. We, as well as the ancients, speak of the five senses, and
of a sense, or common sense, which is the abstraction of them.
The term ' sense ' is also used metaphorically, both in ancient and
modern philosophy, to express the operations of the mind which
are immediate or intuitive. Of the five senses, two— the sight
and the hearing— are of a more subtle and complex nature, while
two others— the smell and the taste— seem to be only more
refined varieties of touch. All of them are passive, and by this
are distinguished from the active faculty of speech : they receive
impressions, but do not produce them, except in so far as they
are objects of sense themselves.
Physiology speaks to us of the wonderful apparatus of nerves,
muscles, tissues, by which the senses are enabled to fulfil their
functions. It traces the connexion, though imperfectly, of the
bodily organs with the operations of the mind. Of these latter, it
seems rather to know the conditions than the causes. It can
prove to us that without the brain we cannot think, and that
without the eye we cannot see: and yet there is far more in
thinking and seeing than is given by the brain and the eye. It
observes the * concomitant variations' of body and mind. Psy-
chology, on the other hand, treats of the same subject regarded
from another point of view. It speaks of the relation of the senses
to one another ; it shows how they meet the mind ; it analyzes
the transition from sense to thought. The one describes their
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i6o Characteristics of space.
ThioiUtus, nature as apparent to the outward eye ; by the other they are
Iktroduc- regarded only as the instruments of the mind. It is in this latter
point of view that we propose to consider them.
The simplest sensation involves an unconscious or nascent
operation of the mind ; it implies objects of sense, and objects of
sense have differences of form, number, colour. But the con-
ception of an object without us, or the power of discriminating
numbers, forms, colours, is not given by the sense, but by the
mind. A mere sensation does not attain to distinctness : it is
a confused impression, trvyK^xyiupop n, as Plato says (Rep. vii.
524 B), until number introduces light and order into the confusion.
At what point confusion becomes distinctness is a question of
degree which cannot be precisely determined. The distant object,
the undefined notion, come out into relief as we approach them or
attend to them. Or we may assist the analysis by attempting to
imagine the world first dawning upon the eye of the infant or of
a person newly restored to sight. Yet even with them the mind
as well as the eye opens or enlarges. For all three are insepar-
ably bound together— the object would be nowhere and nothing,
if not perceived by the sense, and the sense would have no power
of distinguishing without the mind.
But prior to objects of sense there is a third nature in which
they are contained— that is to say, space, which may be explained
in various ways. It is the element which surrounds them ; it is
the vacuum or void which they leave or occupy when passing
from one portion of space to another. It might be described in
the language of ancient philosophy, as * the Not-being ' of objects.
It is a negative idea which in the course of ages has become
positive. It is originally derived from the contemplation of the
world without us— the boundless earth or sea, the vacant heaven,
and is therefore acquired chiefly through the sense of sight : to
the blind the conception of space is feeble and inadequate, derived
for the most part from touch or from the descriptions of others.
At first it appears to be continuous ; afterwards we perceive it to
be capable of division by lines or points, real or imaginary. By
the help of mathematics we form another idea of space, which is
altogether independent of experience. Geometry teaches us that
the innumerable lines and figures by which space is or may be
intersected are absolutely true in all their combinations and
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Analysis and history of our idea of space. i6i
consequences. New and unchangeable properties of space are Theaetetus.
thus developed, which are proved to us in a thousand ways by Introduc
mathematical reasoning as well as by common experience.
Through quantity and measure we are conducted to our simplest
and purest notion of matter, which is to the cube or solid what
space is to the square or surface. And all our applications of
mathematics are applications of our ideas of space to matter. No
wonder then that they seem to have a necessary existence to us.
Being the simplest of our ideas, space is also the one of which we
have the most difficulty in ridding ourselves. Neither can we set
a limit to it, for wherever we fix a limit, space is springing up
beyond. Neither can we conceive a smallest or indivisible portion
of it ; for within the smallest there is a smaller still ; and even
these inconceivable qualities of space, whether the infinite or the
infinitesimal, may be made the subject of reasoning and have
a certain truth to us.
Whether space exists in the mind or out of it, is a question
which has no meaning. We should rather say that without it the
mind is incapable of conceiving the body, and therefore of con*
ceiving itself. The mind may be indeed imagined to contain the
body, in the same way that Aristotle (partly following Plato)
supposes God to be the outer heaven or circle of the universe.
But how can the individual mind carry about the universe of
space packed up within, or how can separate minds have either
a universe of their own or a common universe ? In such con-
ceptions there seems to be a confusion of the individual and the
universal. To say that we can only have a true idea of ourselves
when we deny the reality of that by which we have any idea
of ourselves is an absurdity. The earth which is our habitation
and 'the starry heaven above' and we ourselves are equally
an illusion, if space is only a quality or condition of our minds.
Again, we may compare the truths of space with other truths
derived from experience, which seem to have a necessity to us in
proportion to the frequency of their recurrence or the truth of the
consequences which may be inferred from them. We are thus
led to remark that the necessity in our ideas of space on which
much stress has been laid, differs in a slight degree only from the
necessity which appears to belong to other of our ideas, e.g. weight,
motion, and the like. And there is another way in which this
VOL. IV. M
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i62 A priori ideas have a history of their own.
TheaeUitts, necessity may be explained. We have been taught it, and the
Imtroduc- truth which we were taught or which we inherited has never
been contradicted in all our experience and is therefore confirmed
by it. Who can resist an idea which is presented to him in
a general form in every moment of his life and of which he
finds no instance to the contrary? The greater part of what
is sometimes regarded as the a priori intuition of space is really
the conception of the various geometrical figures of which the
properties have been revealed by mathematical analysis. And
the certainty of these properties is immeasurably increased to
us by our finding that they hold good not only in every instance,
but in all the consequences which are supposed to flow from
them.
Neither must we forget that our idea of space, like our other
ideas, has a history. The Homeric poems contain no word for it ;
even the later Greek philosophy has not the Kantian notion of
space, but only the definite * place' or *the infinite.' To Plato,
in the Timaeus, it is known only as the * nurse of generation.'
When therefore we speak of the necessity of our ideas of space
we must remember that this is a necessity which has grown
up with the growth of the human mind, and has been made
by ourselves. We can free ourselves from the perplexities which
are involved in it by ascending to a time in which they did not as
yet exist. And when space or time are described as * a priori
forms or intuitions added to the matter given in sensation,' we
should consider that such expressions belong really to the * pre-
historic study' of philosophy, i.e. to the eighteenth century, when
men sought to explain the human mind without regard to history
or language or the social nature of man.
In every act of sense there is a latent perception of space, of
which we only become conscious when objects are withdrawn
from it. There are various ways in which we may trace the
connexion between them. We may think of space as unresisting
matter, and of matter as divided into objects ; or of objects again
as formed by abstraction into a collective notion of matter, and
of matter as rarefied into space. And motion may be conceived
as the union of there and not there in space, and force as the
materializing or solidification of motion. Space again is the indi-
vidual and universal in one ; or, in other words, a perception and
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TIOW.
Analogy of space and time with one another. 163
also a conception. So easily do what are sometimes called our Theaeietus.
simple ideas pass into one another, and differences of kind resolve iimtoDuc-
themselves into differences of degree.
Within or behind space there is another abstraction in many
respects similar to it — time, the form of the inward, as space
is the form of the outward. As we cannot think of outward
objects of sense or of outward sensations without space, so neither
can we think of a succession of sensations without time. It is
the vacancy of thoughts or sensations, as space is the void of
outward objects, and we can no more imagine the mind without
the one than the world without the other. It is to arithmetic
what space is to geometry; or, more strictly, arithmetic may
be said to be equally applicable to both. It is defined in our
minds, partly by the analogy of space and partly by the recol-
lection of events which have happened to us, or the consciousness
of feelings which we are experiencing. Like space, it is without
limit, for whatever beginning or end of time we fix, there is
a beginning and end before them, and so on without end. We
speak of a past, present, and future, and again the analogy of
space assists us in conceiving of them as coexistent. When the
limit of time is removed there arises in our minds the idea of
eternity, which at first, like time itself, is only negative, but
gradually, when connected with the world and the divine nature,
like the other negative infinity of space, becomes positive.
Whether time is prior to the mind and to experience, or coeval
with them, is (like the parallel question about space) unmeaning.
Like space it has been realized gradually : in the Homeric poems,
or even in the Hesiodic cosmogony, there is no more notion
of time than of space. The conception of being is more general
than either, and might therefore with greater plausibility be
affirmed to be a condition or quality of the mind. The a priori
intuitians of Kant would have been as unintelligible to Plato as
his a priori syniheHcal propositions to Aristotle. The philosopher
of KOnigsberg supposed himself to be analyzing a necessary
mode of thought: he was not aware that he was dealing with
a mere abstraction. But now that we are able to trace the gradual
developement of ideas through religion, through language, through
abstractions, why should we interpose the fiction of time between
ourselves and realities ? Why should we single out one of these
M 2
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164 Time and space not given a priori.
Thtaetetus. abstractions to be the a priori condition of all the others ? It
Introduc. comes last and not first in the order of our thoughts, and is.
"°^' not the condition precedent of them, but the last generalization
of them. Nor can any principle be imagined more suicidal to
philosophy than to assume that all the truth which we are
capable of attaining is seen only through an unreal medium. If
all that exists in time is illusion, we may well ask with Plato,
* What becomes of the mind ? *
Leaving the a priori conditions of sensation we may proceed
to consider acts of sense. These admit of various degrees of
duration or intensity; they admit also of a greater or less ex-
tension from one object, which is perceived directly, to many
which are perceived indirectly or in a less degree, and to the
'various associations of the object which are latent in the mind.
In genera] the greater the intension the less the extension of
them. The simplest sensation implies some relation of objects
to one another, some position in space, some relation to a
previous or subsequent sensation. The acts of seeing and
hearing nmy be almost unconscious and may pass away un-
noted ; they may also leave an impression behind them or power
of recalling them. If, after seeing an object we shut our eyes,
the object remains dimly seen in the same or about the same
place, but with form and lineaments half filled up. This is the
simplest act of memory. And as we cannot see one thing
without at the same time seeing another, different objects hang
together in recollection, and when we call for one the other
quickly follows. To think of the place in which we have last
seen a thing is often the best way of recalling it to the mind.
Hence memory is dependent on association. The act of recol-
lection may be compared to the sight of an object at a great
distance which we have previously seen near and seek to bring
near to us in thought. Memory is to sense as dreaming is to
waking; and like dreaming has a wayward and uncertain power
of recalling impressions from the past
Thus begins the passage from the outward to the inward
sense. But as yet there is no conception of a universal—the
mind only remembers the individual object or objects, and is
always attaching to them some colour or association of sense.
The power of recollection seems to depend on the intensity or
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Memory and imagination^ decaying sense. 165
largeness of the perception, or on the strength of some emotion TheaeUtus,
with which it is inseparably connected. This is the natural Imteoduc.
memory which is allied to sense, such as children appear to
have and barbarians and animals. It is necessarily limited in
range, and its limitation is its strength. In later life, when the
mind has become crowded with names, acts, feelings, images
innumerable, we acquire by education another memory of system
and arrangement which is both stronger and weaker than the
first - weaker in the recollection of sensible impressions as they
are represented to us by eye or ear— stronger by the natural
connexion of ideas with objects or with one another. And many
of the notions which form a part of the train of our thoughts are
hardly realized by us at the time, but, like numbers or algebraical
symbols, are used as signs only, thus lightening the labour of
recollection.
And now we may suppose that numerous images present
themselves to the mind, which begins to act upon them and to
arrange them in various ways. Besides the impression of
external objects present with us or just absent from us, we
have a dimmer conception of other objects which have dis-
appeared from our immediate recollection and yet continue to
exist in us. The mind is full of fancies which are passing to
and fro before it. Some feeling or association calls them up,
and they are uttered by the lips. This is the first rudimentary
imagination, which may be truly described in the language of
Hobbes, as * decaying sense,' an expression which may be applied
with equal truth to memory as well. For memory and imagi-
nation, though we sometimes oppose them, are nearly allied ;
the difference between them seems chiefly to lie in the activity
of the one compared with the passivity of the other. The
sense decaying in memory receives a flash of light or life from
imagination. Dreaming is a link of connexion between them;
for in dreaming we feebly recollect and also feebly imagine at
one and the same time. When reason is asleep the lower part
of the mind wanders at will amid the images which have been
received from without, the intelligent element retires, and the
sensual or sensuous takes its place. And so in the first efforts
of imagination reason is latent or set aside ; and images, in part
disorderly, but also having a unity (however imperfect; of their
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1 66 Langtcage intermediate between inward and outward.
Thecutetm. own, pour like a flood over the mind. And if we could penetrate
Imtrodvc- into the heads of animals we should probably find that their
intelligence, or the state of what in them is analogous to our
intelligence, is of this nature.
Thus far we have been speaking of men, rather in the points in
which they resemble animals than in the points in which they
differ from them. The animal too has memory in various degrees,
and the elements of imagination, if, as appears to be the case,
he dreams. How far their powers or instincts are educated by
the circumstances of their lives or by intercourse with one another
or with mankind, we cannot precisely tell. They, like ourselves,
have the physical inheritance of form, scent, hearing, sight, and
other qualities or instincts. But they have not the mental in-
heritance of thoughts and ideas handed down by tradition, 'the
slow additions that build up the mind ' of the human race. And
language, which is the great educator of mankind, is wanting
in them; whereas in us language is ever present— even in the
infant the latent power of naming is almost immediately ob-
servable. And therefore the description which has been already
given of the nascent power of the faculties is in reality an
anticipation. For simultaneous with their growth in man a
growth of language must be supposed. The child of two years
old sees the fire once and again, and the feeble observation of
the same recurring object is associated with the feeble utterance
of the name by which he is taught to call it. Soon he learns
to utter the name when the object is no longer there, but the
desire or imagination of it is present to him. At first in every
use of the word there is a colour of sense, an indistinct picture
of the object which accompanies it. But in later years he sees
in the name only the universal or class word, and the more
abstract the notion becomes, the more vacant is the image which
is presented to him. Henceforward all the operations of his
mind, including the perceptions of sense, are a synthesis of
sensations, words, conceptions. In seeing or hearing or looking
or listening the sensible impression prevails over the conception
and the word. In reflection the process is reversed— the outward
object fades away into nothingness, the name or the conception
or both together are everything. Language, like number, is
intermediate between the two, partaking of the definiteness of
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now.
The two worlds of sense and of thought, 167
the outer and of the universality of the inner world. For logic Theaetetus.
teaches us that every word is really a universal, and only con- Imttoduc
descends by the help of position or circumlocution to become the
expression of individuals or particulars. And sometimes by using
words as symbols we are able to give a 'local habitation and
a name * to the infinite and inconceivable.
Thus we see that no line can be drawn between the powers
of sense and of reflection— they pass imperceptibly into one
another. We may indeed distinguish between the seeing and the
closed eye— between the sensation and the recollection of it. But
this distinction carries us a very little way, for recollection is
present in sight as well as sight in recollection. There is no
impression of sense which does not simultaneously recall differ-
ences of form, number, colour, and the like. Neither is such
a distinction applicable at all to our internal bodily sensations,
which give no sign of themselves when unaccompanied with pain,
and even when we are most conscious of them, have of^en no
assignable place in the human frame. Who can divide the nerves
or great nervous centres from the mind which uses them ? Who
can separate the pains and pleasures of the mind from the pains
and pleasures of the body ? The words * inward and outward,*
* active and passive,' *mind and body,* are best conceived by
us as differences of degree passing into differences of kind, and
at one time and under one aspect acting in harmony and then
again opposed. They introduce a system and order into the
knowledge of our being ; and yet, like many other general terms,
are often in advance of our actual analysis or observation.
According to some writers the inward sense is only the fading
away or imperfect realization of the outward. But this leaves out
of sight one half of the phenomenon. For the mind is not only
withdrawn from the world of sense but introduced to a higher
world of thought and reflection, in which, like the outward sense,
she is trained and educated. By use the outward sense becomes
keener and more intense, especially when conflned within narrow
limits. The savage with little or no thought has a quicker dis-
cernment of the track than the civilized man ; in like manner the
dog, having the help of scent as well as of sight, is superior to the
savage. By use again the inward thought becomes more defined
and distinct ; what was at flrst an effort is made easy by the
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TIOM.
1 68 The use of the senses dependent an the mind.
Theaeteius, natural instrumentality of language, and the mind learns to grasp
Imthoduc- universals with no more exertion than is required for the sight of
an outward object. There is a natural connexion and arrange-
ment of them, like the association of objects in a. landscape. Just
as a note or two of music suffices to recall a whole piece to the
musician*s or composer's mind, so a great principle or leading
thought suggests and arranges a world of particulars. The power
of reflection is not feebler than the faculty of sense, but of a higher
and more comprehensive nature. It not only receives the uni-
versals of sense, but gives them a new content by comparing and
combining them with one another. It withdraws from the seen that
it may dwell in the unseen. The sense only presents us with a
flat and impenetrable surface : the mind takes the world to pieces
and puts it together on a new pattern. The universals which are
detached from sense are reconstructed in science. They and not
the mere impressions of sense are the truth of the world in which
we live ; and (as an argument to those who will only believe * what
they can hold in their hands ') we may further observe that they
are the source of our power over it. To say that the outward
sense is stronger than the inward is like saying that the arm of
the workman is stronger than the constructing or directing mind.
Returning to the senses we may briefly consider two questions
— first their relation to the mind, secondly, their relation to outward
objects :—
I. The senses are not merely * holes set in a wooden horse'
(Theaet. 184 D), but instruments of the mind with which they are
organically connected. There is no use of them without some use
of words — some natural or latent logic— some previous experience
or observation. Sensation, like all other mental processes, is com-
plex and relative, though apparently simple. The senses mutually
confirm and support one another ; it is hard to say how much our
impressions of hearing may be affected by those of sight, or how
far our impressions of sight may be corrected by the touch,
especially in infancy. The confirmation of them by one another
cannot of course be given by any one of them. Many intuitions
which are inseparable from the act of sense are really the result
of complicated reasonings. The most cursory glance at objects
enables the experienced eye to judge approximately of their
relations and distance, although nothing is impressed upon the
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•noil.
Sights y sounds y distances ; the Berkeleian philosophy. 169
retina except colour, including gradations of light and shade. Tkeaetctus,
From these delicate and almost imperceptible differences we iinnooyc-
seem chiefly to derive our ideas of distance and position. By
comparison of what is near with what is distant we learn that
the tree, house, river, &c. which are a long way off are objects of
a like nature with those which are seen by us in our immediate
neighbourhood, although the actual impression made on the eye is
very different in one case and in the other. This is a language of
* large and small letters ' (Rep. 2. 368 D), slightly differing in form
and exquisitely graduated by distance, which we are learning all
our life long, and which we attain in various degrees according to
our powers of sight or observation. There is another considera-
tion. The greater or less strain upon the nerves of the eye or ear
is communicated to the mind and silently informs the judgment.
We have also the use not of one eye only, but of two, which give
us a wider range, and help us to discern, by the greater or less
acuteness of the angle which the rays of sight form, the distance
of an object and its relation to other objects. But we are already
passing beyond the limits of our actual knowledge on a subject
which has given rise to many conjectures. More importimt than
the addition of another conjecture is the observation, whether in
the case of sight or of any other sense, of the great complexity of
the causes and the great simplicity of the effect
The sympathy of the mind and the ear is no less striking than
the sympathy of the mind and the eye. Do we not seem to
perceive instinctively and as an act of sense the differences of
articulate speech and of musical notes ? Yet how small a part
of speech or of music is produced by the impression of the ear
compared with that which is furnished by the mind !
Again ; the more refined faculty of sense, as in animals so also
in man, seems often to be transmitted by inheritance. Neither
must we forget that in the use of the senses, as in his whole
nature, man is a social being, who is always being educated by
language, habit, and the teaching of other men as well as by his
own observation. He knows distance because he is taught it by
a more experienced judgment than his own; he distinguishes
sounds because he is told to remark them by a person of a more
discerning ear. And as we inherit from our parents or other
ancestors peculiar powers of sense or feeling, so we improve and
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TION.
1 70 Unnieaningftess and unreality of Berkeleianism,
Theaetctus, strengthen them, not only by regular teaching, but also by
iwTRODuc- sympathy and communion with other persons.
2. The second question, namely, that concerning the relation of
the mind to external objects, is really a trifling one, though it has
been made the subject of a famous philosophy. We may if we
hke, with Berkeley, resolve objects of sense into sensations ; but
the change is one of name only, and nothing is gained and some-
thing is lost by such a resolution or confusion of them. For we
have not really made a single step towards idealism, and any
arbitrary inversion of our ordinary modes of speech is disturbing
to the mind. The youthful metaphysician is delighted at his mar-
vellous discovery that nothing is, and that what we see or feel is
our sensation only : for a day or two the world has a new interest
to him ; he alone knows the secret which has been communicated
to him by the philosopher, that mind is all— when in fact he is
going out of his mind in the first intoxication of a great thought.
But he soon finds that all things remain as they were — the laws of
motion, the properties of matter, the qualities of substances. Afler
having inflicted his theories on any one who is willing to receive
them, * first on his father and mother, secondly on some other
patient listener, thirdly on his dog,' he finds that he only differs
from the rest of mankind in the use of a word. He had once
hoped that by getting rid of the solidity of matter he might open a
passage to worlds beyond. He liked to think of the world as the
representation of the divine nature, and delighted to imagine
angels and spirits wandering through space, present in the room
in which he is sitting without coming through the door, nowhere
and everywhere at the same instant. At length he finds that he
has been the victim of his own fancies ; he has neither more nor
less evidence of the supernatural than he had before. He himself
has become unsettled, but the laws of the world remain fixed as at
the beginning. He has discovered that his appeal to the fallibility
of sense was really an illusion. For whatever uncertainty there
may be in the appearances of nature, arises only out of the imper-
fection or variation of the human senses, or possibly from the
deficiency of certain branches of knowledge ; when science is able
to apply her tests, the uncertainty is at an end. We are apt some-
times to think that moral and metaphysical philosophy are lowered
by the influence which is exercised over them by physical science.
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The mind mtist be assured before we can know, 171
But any interpretation of nature by physical science is far in Theattetus,
advance of such idealism. The philosophy of Berkeley, while Intiioduc-
giving unbounded license to the imagination, is still grovelling on
the level of sense.
We may, if we please, carry this scepticism a step further, and
den}', not only objects of sense, but the continuity of our sensations
their.selves. We may say with Protagoras and Hume that what is
appears, and that what appears appears only to individuals, and
to the same individual only at one instant. But then, as Plato asks,
— and we must repeat the question, — What becomes of the mind ?
Experience tells us by a thousand proofs that our sensations of
colour, taste, and the like, are the same as they were an instant
ago— that the act which we are performing one minute is con-
tinued by us in the next— and also supplies abundant proof that
the perceptions of other men are, speaking generally, the same
or nearly the same with our own. After having slowly and
laboriously in the course of ages gained a conception of a whole
and parts, of the constitution of the mind, of the relation of man to
God and nature, imperfect indeed, but the best we can, we are
asked to return again to the * beggarly elements * of ancient scepti-
cism, and acknowledge only atoms and sensations devoid of life or
unity. Why should we not go a step further still and doubt the
existence of the senses or of all things ? We are but * such stuff
as dreams are made of;' for we have left ourselves no instruments
of thought by which we can distinguish man from the animals, or
conceive of the existence even of a mollusc. And observe, this
extremp scepticism has been allowed to spring up among us, not,
like the ancient scepticism, in an age when nature and language
really seemed to be full of illusions, but in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries, when men walk in the daylight of inductive
science.
The attractiveness of such speculations arises out of their true
nature not being perceived. They are veiled in graceful language ;
they are not pushed to extremes; they stop where the human
mind is disposed also to stop — short of a manifest absurdity.
Their inconsistency is not observed by their authors or by man-
kind in general, who are equally inconsistent themselves. They
leave on the mind a pleasing sense of wonder and novelty : in
youth they seem to have a natural affinity to one class of persons
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172 Is sensationalism allied to a lower ethical philosophy ?
Tktaeteius, as poetry has to another; but in later life either we drift back
Imtroduc into common sense, or we make them the starting-points of a
higher philosophy.
We are often told that we should enquire into all things before
we accept them;— with what limitations is this true? For we
cannot use our senses without admitting that we have them, or
think without presupposing that there is in us a power of thought,
or affirm that all knowledge is derived from experience without
implying that this first principle of knowledge is prior to ex-
perience. The truth seems to be that we begin with the natural
use of the mind as of the body, and we seek to describe this as
well as we can. We eat before we know the nature of digestion ;
we think before we know the nature of reflection. As our know-
ledge increases, our perception of the mind enlarges also. We
cannot indeed get beyond facts, but neither can we draw any line
which separates facts from ideas. And the mind is not something
separate from them but included in them, and they in the mind,
both having a distinctness and individuality of their own. To
reduce our conception of mind to a succession of feelings and
sensations is like the attempt to view a wide prospect by inches
through a microscope, or to calculate a period of chronology by
minutes. The mind ceases to exist when it loses its continuity,
which though far from being its highest determination, is 3'et
necessary to any conception of it. Even an inanimate nature
cannot be adequately represented as an endless succession of
states or conditions.
§ II. Another division of the subject has yet to be considered :
Why should the doctrine that knowledge is sensation, in ancient
times, or of sensationalism or materialism in modem times, be
allied to the lower rather than to the higher view of ethical phi-
losophy ? At first sight the nature and origin of knowledge appear
to be wholly disconnected from ethics and religion, nor can we
deny that the ancient Stoics were materialists, or that the mate-
rialist doctrines prevalent in modem times have been associated
with great virtues, or that both religious and philosophical idealism
have not unfrequently parted company with practice. Still upon
the whole it must be admitted that the higher standard of duty
has gone hand in hand with the higher conception of knowledge.
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The value and use of the higher ideas, 173
It is Protagoras who is seeking to adapt himself to the opinions of Theaetetus.
the world ; it is Plato who rises above them : the one maintaining Imtroduc
that all knowledge is sensation ; the other basing the virtues on "°***
the idea of good. The reason of this phenomenon has now to be
examined.
By those who rest knowledge immediately upon sense, that
explanation of human action is deemed to be the truest which is
nearest to sense. As knowledge is reduced to sensation, so virtue
is reduced to feeling, happiness or good to pleasure. The different
virtues— the various characters which exist in the world— are the
disguises of self-interest. Human nature is dried up ; there is no
place left for imagination, or in any higher sense for religion.
Ideals of a whole, or of a state, or of a law of duty, or of a divine
perfection, are out of place in an Epicurean philosophy. The very
terms in which they are expressed are suspected of having no
meaning. Man is to bring himself back as far as he is able to the
condition of a rational beast He is to limit himself to the pursuit
of pleasure, but of this he is to make a far-sighted calculation ;— he
is to be rationalized, secularized, aiiimalized : or he is to be an
amiable sceptic, better than his own philosophy, and not falling
below the opinions of the world.
Imagination has been called that * busy faculty ' which is always
intruding upon us in the search after truth. But imagination is
also that higher power by which we rise above ourselves and the
commonplaces of thought and life. The philosophical imagination
is another name for reason finding an expression of herself in the
outward world. To deprive life of ideals is to deprive it of all
higher and comprehensive aims and of the power of imparting
and communicating them to others. For men are taught, not by
those who are on a level with them, but by those who rise above
them, who see the distant hills, who soar into the empyrean.
Like a bird in a cage, the mind confined to sense is always being
brought back from the higher to the lower, from the wider to the
narrower view of human knowledge. It seeks to fly but cannot :
instead of aspiring towards perfection, *it hovers about this lower
world and the earthly nature.' It loses the religious sense which
more than any other seems to take a man out of himself. Weary
of asking * What is truth ? * it accepts the * blind witness of eyes
and ears : ' it draws around itself the curtain of the physical world
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TIOM.
1 74 Materialism fails to express mens higher thoughts,
Theaeteius, and is satisfied. The strength of a sensational philosophy lies in
Iotroduc- the ready accommodation of it to the minds of men ; many who
have been metaphysicians in their youth, as they advance in years
are prone to acquiesce in things as they are, or rather appear to
be. They are spectators, not thinkers, and the best philosophy
is that which requires of them the least amount of mental effort.
As a lower philosophy is easier to apprehend than a higher, so
a lower way of life is easier to follow ; and therefore such a philo-
sophy seems to derive a support from the general practice of
mankind. It appeals to principles which they all know and
recognize : it gives back to them in a generalized form the results
of their own experience. To the man of the world they are the
quintessence of his own reflections upon life. To follow custom,
to have no new ideas or opinions, not to be straining after im-
possibilities, to enjoy to-day with just so much forethought as is
necessary to provide for the morrow, this is regarded by the
greater part of the world as the natural way of passing through
existence. And many who have lived thus have attained to a
lower kind of happiness or equanimity. They have possessed
their souls in peace without ever allowing them to wander into
the region of religious or political controversy, and without any
care for the higher interests of man. But nearly all the good (as
well as some of the evil) which has ever been done in this world
has been the work of another spirit, the work of enthusiasts and
idealists, of apostles and martyrs. The leaders of mankind have
not been of the gentle Epicurean type ; they have personified
ideas; they have sometimes also been the victims of them. But
they have always been seeking after a truth or ideal of which
they fell short ; and have died in a manner disappointed of their
hopes that they might lift the human race out of the slough in
which they found them. They have done little compared with
their own visions and aspirations ; but they have done that little,
only because they sought to do, and once perhaps thought that
they were doing, a great deal more.
The philosophies of Epicurus or Hume give no adequate or
dignified conception of the mind. There is no organic unity in a
succession of feeling or sensations ; no comprehensiveness in an
infinity of separate actions. The individual never reflects upon
himself as a whole ; he can hardly regard one act or part of his
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TIOM.
On the nature and limits of Psychology. 175
life as the cause or effect of any other act or part. Whether in Theaeietus,
practice or speculation, he is to himself only in successive instants. Imtkoduc-
To such thinkers, whether in ancient or in modem times, the mind
is only the poor recipient of impressions— not the heir of all the
ages, or connected with all other minds. It begins again with its
own modicum of experience having only such vague conceptions
of the wisdom of the past as are inseparable from language and
popular opinion. It seeks to explain from the experience of the
individual what can only be learned from the history of the world.
It has no conception of obligation, duty, conscience— these are
to the Epicurean or Utilitarian philosopher only names which
interfere with our natural perceptions of pleasure and pain.
There seem then to be several answers to the question. Why
the theory that all knowledge is sensation is allied to the lower
rather than to the higher view of ethical philosophy :— ist. Because
it is easier to understand and practise ; 2ndly, Because it is fatal
to the pursuit of ideals, moral, political, or religious ; srdly. Because
it deprives us of the means and instruments of higher thought, of
any adequate conception of the mind, of knowledge, of conscience,
of moral obligation.
On the nature and limits of Psychology.
^ yitp apxh H'*'^ ^ m4 ^^*9 TtXivrrj df Ka\ rit firro^v i( ol fi^ o?df avfi-
YTcirXfierai, ris fi^X'BLvij rrjp roiavnfp 6fiokoylap irort fin<Trr)fuiv ytvf arBai ;
Plat. Rep. VII. 533 C.
fiSvov yhp avrb Xcyfcr, Aatrtp yvyathv Koi dnffpfjfiMfjJvov cnr6 t»v Spt»p
67ravrciPf ddvvttvov. Soph. 237 D.
Since the above essay first appeared, many books on Psychology
have been given to the world, partly based upon the views of
Herbart and other German philosophers, partly independent of
them. The subject has gained in bulk and extent; whether it
has had any true growth is more doubtful. It begins to assume
the language and claim the authority of a science ; but it is only
an hjrpothesis or outline, which may be filled up in many ways
according to the fancy of individual thinkers. The basis of it is a
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1 76 On the nature and limits of Psychology.
Theaetetus, precarious one, - consciousness of ourselves and a somewhat un-
Imtroduc- certain observation of the rest of mankind. Its relations to other
sciences are not yet determined: they seem to be almost too
complicated to be ascertained. It may be compared to an irregular
building, run up hastily and not likely to last, because its' founda-
tions are weak, and in many places rest only on the surface of
the ground. It has sought rather to put together scattered
observations and to make them into a system than to describe
or prove Ihem. It has never severely drawn the line between
facts and opinions. It has substituted a technical phraseology
for the common use of language, being neither able to win
acceptance for the one nor to get rid of the other.
The system which has thus arisen appears to be a kind of
metaphysic narrowed to the point of view of the individual
mind, through which, as through some new optical instrument
limiting the sphere of vision, the interior of thought and sensa-
tion is examined. But the individual mind in the abstract, as
distinct from the mind of a particular individual and separated
from the environment of circumstances, is a fiction only. Yet
facts which are partly true gather around this fiction and are
naturally described by the help of it. There is also a common
type of the mind which is derived from the comparison of
many minds with one another and with our own. The pheno-
mena of which Psychology treats are familiar to us, but they
are for the most part indefinite ; they relate to a something
inside the body, which seems also to overleap the limits of
space. The operations of this something, when isolated, cannot
be analyzed by us or subjected to observation and experi-
ment. And there is another point to be considered. The mind,
when thinking, cannot survey that part of itself which is used
in thought. It can only be contemplated in the past, that is to
say, in the history of the individual or of the world. This is
the scientific method of studying the mind. But Psychology has
also some other supports, specious rather than real. It is partly
sustained by the false analogy of Physical Science and has great
expectations from its near relationship to Physiology. We truly
remark that there is an infinite complexity of the body correspond-
ing to the infinite subtlety of the mind ; we are conscious that
they are very nearly connected. But in endeavouring to trace
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TIOM.
On the nature and limits of Psychology. 177
the nature of the connexion we are baffled and disappointed. Thecutetus,
In our knowledge of them the gulf remains the same : no micro- Ihtboduc
scope has ever seen into thought ; no reflection on ourselves has
supplied the missing link between mind and matter These
are the conditions of this very inexact science, and we shall only
know less of it by pretending to know more, or by assigning to
it a form or style to which it has not yet attained and is not really
entitled.
Experience shows that any system, however baseless and
ineffectual, in our own or in any other age, may be accepted and
continue to be studied, if it seeks to satisfy some unanswered
question or is based upon some ancient tradition, especially if it
takes the form and uses the language of inductive philosophy.
The fact therefore that such a science exists and is popular,
affords no evidence of its truth or value. Many who have pursued
it far into detail have never examined the foundations on which it
rests. There have been many imaginary subjects of knowledge
of which enthusiastic persons have made a lifelong study, without
ever asking themselves what is the evidence for them, what is the
use of them, how long they will last ? They may pass away, like
the authors of them, and * leave not a wrack behind ; ' or they may
survive in fragments. Nor is it only in the Middle Ages, or in the
literary desert of China or of India, that such systems have arisen ;
in our own enlightened age, growing up by the side of Physics,
Ethics, and other really progressive sciences, there is a weary
waste of knowledge, falsely so-called. There are sham sciences
which no logic has ever put to the test, in which the desire for
knowledge invents the materials of it.
And therefore it is expedient once more to review the bases of
Psychology, lest we should be imposed upon by its pretensions.
The study of it may have done good service by awakening us to
the sense of inveterate errors familiarized by language, yet it may
have fallen into still greater ones; under the pretence of new
investigations it may be wasting the lives of those who are
engaged in it. It may also be found that the discussion of it
will throw light upon some points in the Theaetetus of Plato,--the
oldest work on Psychology which has come down to us. The
imaginary science may be called, in the language of ancient philo-
sophy, *a shadow of a part of Dialectic or Metaphysic ' (Gorg. 463).
VOL. IV. N
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TIOM.
178 On the nature and limits of Psychology.
Theaeietus, In this postscript or appendix we propose to treat, first, of the
Imtuoduo true bases of Psychology ; secondly, of the errors into which the
students of it are most likely to fall ; thirdly, of the principal
subjects which are usually comprehended under it ; fourthly, of
the form which facts relating to the mind most naturally assume.
We may preface the enquiry by two or three remarks :—
(i) We do not claim for the popular Psychology the position
of a science at all ; it cannot, like the Physical Sciences, proceed by
the Inductive Method : it has not the necessity of Mathematics :
it does not, like Metaphysic, argue from abstract notions or from
internal coherence. It is made up of scattered observations.
A few of these, though they may sometimes appear to be truisms,
are of the greatest value, and free from all doubt. We are conscious
of them in ourselves ; we observe them working in others ; we
are assured of them at all times. For example, we are absolutely
certain, (a) of the influence exerted by the mind over the body or
by the body over the mind : (b) of the power of association, by
which the appearance of some person or the occurrence of some
event recalls to mind, not always but oflen, other persons and
events : (c) of the effect of habit, which is strongest when least
disturbed by reflection, and is to the mind what the bones are to
the body : (d) of the real, though not unlimited, freedom of the
human will : (e) of the reference, more or less distinct, of our
sensations, feelings, thoughts, actions, to ourselves, which is caUed
consciousness, or, when in excess, self-consciousness: (f) of
the distinction of the * I ' and * Not I,* of ourselves and outward
objects. But when we attempt to gather up these elements in
a single system, we discover that the links by which we combine
them are apt to be mere words. We are in a country which has
never been cleared or surveyed ; here and there only does a gleam
of light come through the darkness of the forest.
(a) These fragments, although they can never become science
in the ordinary sense of the word, are a real part of knowledge
and may be of great value in education. We may be able to add
a good deal to them from our own experience, and we may verify
them by it. Self-examination is one of those studies which a
man can pursue alone, by attention to himself and the processes
of his individual mind. He may learn much about his own
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On the nature and limits of Psychology. 1 79
character and about the character of others, if he will * make his Theaetetus,
mind sit down' and look at itself in the glass. The great, if Intioduc-
not the only use of such a study is a practical one,— to know,
first, human nature, and, secondly, our own nature, as it truly is.
(3) Hence it is important that we should conceive oPthe
mind in the noblest and simplest manner. While acknowledging
that language has been the greatest factor in the formation of
human thought, we must endeavour to get rid of the disguises,
oppositions, contradictions, which arise out of it. We must dis-
engage ourselves from the ideas which the customary use of
words has implanted in us. To avoid error as much as possible
when we are speaking of things unseen, the principal terms which
we use should be few, and we should not allow ourselves to be
enslaved by them. Instead of seeking to frame a technical
language, we should vary our forms of speech, lest they should
degenerate into formulas. A difficult philosophical problem is
better imderstood when translated into the vernacular.
I. a. Psychology is inseparable from language, and early language
contains the first impressions or the oldest experience of man
respecting himself. These impressions are not accurate repre-
sentations of the truth ; they are the reflections of a rudimentary
age of philosophy. The first and simplest forms of thought are
rooted so deep in human nature that they can never be got rid of;
but they have been perpetually enlarged and elevated, and the
use of many words has been transferred from the body to the
mind. The spiritual and intellectual have thus become separated
from the material— there is a cleft between them ; and the heart
and the conscience of man rise above the dominion of the
appetites and create a new language in which they too find
expression. As the differences of actions begin to be per-
ceived, more and more names are needed. This is the first
analysis of the human mind ; having a general foundation in
popular experience, it is moulded to a certain extent by hiero-
phants and philosophers. (See Introd. to Cratylus.)
/3. This primitive psychology is continually receiving additions
from the first thinkers, who in return take a colour from the
popular language of the time. The mind is regarded from
new points of view, and becomes adapted to new conditions of
N 2
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i8o
On the nature and limits of Psychology.
Introduc-
tion.
Theaeteius. knowledge. It seeks to isolate itself from matter and sense, and to
assert its independence in thought. It recognizes that it is inde-
pendent of the external world. It has five or six natural states
or stages :— (i) sensation, in which it is almost latent or quiescent :
(2) feeling, or inner sense, when the mind is just awakening :
(3) memory, which is decajing sense, and from time to time, as
with a spark or flash, has the power of recollecting or reanimating
the buried past : (4) thought, in which images pass into abstract
notions or are intermingled with them : (5) action, in which the
mind moves forward, of itself, or under the impulse of want or
desire or pain, to attain or avoid some end or consequence : and
(6) there is the composition of these or the admixture or assim-
ilation of them in various degrees. We never see these pro-
cesses of the mind, nor can we tell the causes of them. But we
know them by their results, and learn from other men that so far
as we can describe to them or they to us the workings of the
mind, their experience is the same or nearly the same with our
own.
7. But the knowledge of the mind is not to any great extent
derived from the observation of the individual by himself. It is
the growing consciousness of the human race, embodied in lan-
guage, acknowledged by experience, and corrected from time to
time by the influence of literature and philosophy. A great,
perhaps the most important, part of it is to be found in early
Greek thought. In the Theaetetus of Plato it has not yet be-
come fixed : we are still stumbling on the threshold. In
Aristotle the process is more nearly completed, and has gained
innumerable abstractions, of which many have had to be thrown
away because relative only to the controversies of the time. In
the interval between Thales and Aristotle were realized the dis-
tinctions of mind and body, of universal and particular, of infinite
and infinitesimal, of idea and phenomenon ; the class conceptions
of faculties and virtues, the antagonism of the appetites and the
reason ; and connected with this, at a higher stage of develop-
ment, the opposition of moral and intellectual virtue; also the
primitive conceptions of unity, being, rest, motion, and the like.
These divisions were not really scientific, but rather based on
popular experience. They were not held with the precision of
modern thinkers, but taken all together they gave a new existence
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On the nature and limits of Psychology. i8i
to the mind in thought, and greatly enlarged and more accurately Tkeaetctus,
defined man's knowledge of himself and of the world. The iktroduc-
majority of them have been accepted by Christian and Western "°"*
nations. Yet in modern times we have also drifted so far away
from Aristotle, that if we were to frame a system on his lines we
should be at war with ordinary language and untrue to our own
consciousness. And there have been a few both in mediaeval
times and since the Reformation who have rebelled against the
Aristotelian point of view. Of these eccentric thinkers there have
been various types, but they have all a family likeness. Accord-
ing to them, there has been too much analysis and too little
synthesis, too much division of the mind into parts and too little
conception of it as a whole or in its relation to God and the laws of
the universe. They have thought that the elements of plurality
and unity have not been duly adjusted. The tendency of such
writers has been to allow the personality of man to be absorbed
in the universal, or in the divine nature, and to deny the distinc-
tion between matter and mind, or to substitute one for the other.
They have broken some of the idols of Psychology ; they have
challenged the received meaning of words : they have regarded
the mind under many points of view. But though they may have
shaken the old, they have not established the new ; their views of
philosophy, which seem like the echo of son^e voice from the EUist,
have been alien to the mind of Europe.
d. The Psychology which is found in common language is in
some degree verified by experience, but not in such a manner
as to give it the character of an exact science. We cannot say
that words always correspond to facts. Common language repre-
sents the mind from different and even opposite points of view,
which cannot be all of them equally true (cp. Cratylus 436-7).
Yet from diversity of statements and opinions may be obtained
a nearer approach to the truth than is to be gained from any
one of them. It also tends to correct itself, because it is gra-
dually brought nearer to the common sense of mankind. There
are some leading categories or classifications of thought, which,
though unverified, must always remain the elements from which
the science or study of the mind proceeds. For example, we
must assume ideas before we can analyze them, and also a con-
tinuing mind to which they belong; the resolution of it into
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1 82 On the nature and limits of Psychology.
Thtaetetus, successive moments, which would say, with Protagoras, that the
Intkoduc- man is not the same person which he was a minute ago, is, as
Plato implies in the Theaetetus (i66 B), an absurdity.
€. The growth of the mind, which may be traced in the his-
tories of religions and philosophies and in the thoughts of nations,
is one of the deepest and noblest modes of studying it. Here we
are dealing with the reality, with the greater and, as it may be
termed, the most sacred part of history. We study the mind of
man as it begins to be inspired by a human or divine reason, as
it is modified by circumstances, as it is distributed in nations,
as it is renovated by great movements, which go beyond the
limits of nations and affect human society on a scale still greater,
as it is created or renewed by great minds, who, looking down
from above, have a wider and more comprehensive vision. This
is an ambitious study, of which most of us rather * entertain con-
jecture ' than arrive at any detailed or accurate knowledge. Later
arises the reflection how these great ideas or movements of the
world have been appropriated by the multitude and found a way
to the minds of individuals. The real Psychology is that which
shows how the increasing knowledge of nature and the increas-
ing experience of life have always been slowly transforming the
mind, how religions too have been modified in the course of ages
' that God may be all and in all.' ^H iroXXafrXd(rioir, l^i;, rd ^pyoy fj »s
wvv (rfTtlrai irpoardmis,
f. Lastly, though we speak of the study of mind in a special
sense, it may also be said that there is no science which does not
contribute to our knowledge of it. The methods of science and
their analogies are new faculties, discovered by the few and
imparted to the many. They are to the mind, what the senses
are to the body; or better, they may be compared to instru-
ments such as the telescope or microscope by which the discrim-
inating power of the senses, or to other mechanical inventions,
by which the strength and skill of the human body is so immea-
surably increased.
II. The new Psychology, whatever may be its claim to the
authority of a science, has called attention to many facts and
corrected many errors, which without it would have been unex-
amined. Yet it is also itself very liable to illusion. The evidence
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On the nature and limits of Psychology. 183
on which it rests is vague and indefinite. The field of conscious- Tke<utetus,
ness is never seen by us as a whole, but only at particular points, imtkoduc-
which are always changing. The veil of language intercepts
facts. Hence it is desirable that in making an approach to the
study we should consider at the outset what are the kinds of error
which most easily affect it, and note the differences which separate
it from other branches of knowledge.
a. First, we observe the mind by the mind. It would seem
therefore that we are always in danger of leaving out the half of
that which is the subject of our enquiry. We come at once upon
the difficulty of what is the meaning of the word. Does it differ
as subject and object in the same manner ? Can we suppose one
set of feelings or one part of the mind to interpret another ? Is
the introspecting thought the same with the thought which is
introspected? Has the mind the power of survejdng its whole
domain at one and the same time? — No more than the eye can
take in the whole human body at a glance. Yet there may be
a glimpse round the comer, or a thought transferred in a
moment from one point of view to another, which enables us to
see nearly the whole, if not at once, at any rate in succession.
Such glimpses will hardly enable us to contemplate from within
the mind in its true proportions. Hence the firmer ground of
Psychology is not the consciousness of inward feelings but the
observation of external actions, being the actions not only of our-
selves, but of the innumerable persons whom we come across
in life.
^. The error of supposing partial or occasional explanation of
mental phenomena to be the only or complete ones. For ex-
ample, we are disinclined to admit of the spontaneity or discon-
tinuity of the mind— it seems to us like an effect without a cause,
and therefore we suppose the train of our thoughts to be always
called up by association. Yet it is probable, or indeed certain, that
of many mental phenomena there are no mental antecedents, but
only bodily ones.
y. The false influence of language. We are apt to suppose
that when there are two or more words describing faculties or
processes of the mind, there are real differences corresponding to
them. But this is not the case. Nor can we determine how far
they do or do not exist, or by what degree or kind of difference
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184 On the nature and limits of Psychology,
Theaeteius, they are distinguished. The same remark may be made about
Intkoouc- figures of speech. They fill up the vacancy of knowledge ; they
are to the mind what too much colour is to the eye ; but the truth
is rather concealed than revealed by them.
d. The uncertain meaning of terms, such as Consciousness, Con-
science, Will, Law, Knowledge, Internal and External Sense ;
these, in the language of Plato, * we shamelessly use, without ever
having taken the pains to analyze them.*
€. A science such as Psychology is not merely an hypothesis,
but an hypothesis which, unlike the hypotheses of Physics, can
never be verified. It rests only on the general impressions of
mankind, and there is little or no hope of adding in any consider-
able degree to our stock of mental facts.
f. The parallelism of the Physical Sciences, which leads us to
analyze the mind on the analogy of the body, and so to reduce
mental o[>erations to the level of bodily ones, or to confound one
with the other.
1;. That the progress of Physiology may throw a new light on
Psychology is a dream in which scientific men are always tempted
to indulge. But however certain we may be of the connexion
between mind and body, the explanation of the one by the other is
a hidden place of nature which has hitherto been investigated
with little or no success.
0, The impossibility of distinguishing between mind and body.
Neither in thought nor in experience can we separate them.
They seem to act together ; yet we feel that we are sometimes
under the dominion of the one, sometimes of the other, and some-
times, both in the common use of language and in fact, they
transform themselves, the one into the good principle, the other
into the evil principle ; and then again the ' I ' comes in and
mediates between them. It is also difScult to distinguish outward
facts from the ideas of them in the mind, or to separate the
external stimulus to a sensation from the activity of the organ,
or this from the invisible agencies by which it reaches the mind,
or any process of sense from its mental antecedent, or any mental
energy from its nervous expression.
1. The fact that mental divisions tend to run into one another,
and that in speaking of the mind we cannot always distinguish
differences of kind from differences of degree; nor have we
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On the nature and limits of Psychology, 185
any measure of the strength and intensity of our ideas or ThtaeUtus,
feelings. Iktkoduc,
«r. Although heredity has been always known to the ancients as
well as ourselves to exercise a considerable influence on human
character, yet we are unable to calculate what proportion this
birth-influence bears to nurture and education. But this is the
real question. We cannot pursue the mind into embryology : we
can only trace how, after birth, it begins to grow. But how much
is due to the soil, how much to the original latent seed, it is
impossible to distinguish. And because we are certain that
heredity exercises a considerable, but undefined influence, we
must not increase the wonder by exaggerating it.
X. The love of system is always tending to prevail over the
historical investigation of the mind, which is our chief means of
knowing it. It equally tends to hinder the other great source of
our knowledge of the mind, the observation of its workings and
processes which we can make for ourselves.
/i. The mind, when studied through the individual, is apt to be
isolated— this is due to the very form of the enquiry ; whereas, in
truth, it is indistinguishable from circumstances, the very language
which it uses being the result of the instincts of long-forgotten
generations, and every word which a man utters being the
answer to some other word spoken or suggested by somebody
else.
III. The tendency of the preceding remarks has been to show
that Psychology is necessarily a fragment, and is not and cannot
be a connected system. We cannot define or limit the mind, but
we can describe it. We can collect information about it ; we can
enumerate the principal subjects which are included in the study
of it. Thus we are able to rehabilitate Psychology to some extent,
not as a branch of science, but as a collection of facts bearing on
human life, as a part of the history of philosophy, as an aspect of
Metaphysic. It is a fragment of a science only, which in all
probability can never make any great progress or attain to much
clearness or exactness. It is however a kind of knowledge which
has a great interest for us and is always present to us, and of
which we carry about the materials in our own bosoms. We can
observe our minds and we can experiment upon them, and the
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1 86 On the nature and limits of Psychology.
Theattetus. knowledge thus acquired is not easily forgotten, and is a help to us
Imtboduc- '^^ study as well as in conduct.
The principal subjects of Psychology may be summed up as
follows :—
a. The relation of man to the world around him,— in \diat sense
and within what limits can he withdraw from its laws or assert
himself against them (Freedom and Necessity), and what is that
which we suppose to be thus independent and which we call our-
selves ? How does the inward diflfer from the outward and what
is the relation between them, and where do we draw the line by
which we separate mind from matter, the soul from the body ? Is
the mind active or passive, or partly both ? Are its movements
identical with those of the body, or only preconcerted and
coincident with them, or is one simply an aspect of the other ?
/3. What are we to think of time and space ? Time seems to
have a nearer connexion with the mind, space with the body ; yet
time, as well as space, is necessary to our idea of either. We
see also that they have an analogy with one another, and that in
Mathematics they often interpenetrate. Space or place has been
said by Kant to be the form of the outward, time of the inward
sense. He regards them as parts or forms of the mind. But this
is an unfortunate and inexpressive way of describing their relation
to us. For of all the phenomena present to the human mind they
seem to have most the character of objective existence. There is
no use in asking what is beyond or behind them ; we cannot get
rid of them. And to throw the laws of external nature which to
us are the type of the immutable into the subjective side of the
antithesis seems to be equally inappropriate.
y. When in imagination we enter into the closet of the mind and
withdraw ourselves from the external world, we seem to find
there more or less distinct processes which may be described by
the words, *I perceive,' *I feel,' *I think,' *I want,' *I wish,' *I
like,' *I dislike,' *I fear,' *I know,' *I remember,' *I imagine,'
* I dream,' * I act,' * I endeavour,' * I hope.' These processes would
seem to have the same notions attached to them in the minds of
all educated persons. They are distinguished from one another
in thought, but they intermingle. It is possible to reflect upon
them or to become conscious of them in a greater or less degree,
or with a greater or less continuity or attention, and thus arise the
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On the nature and limits of Psychology. 187
intermittent phenomena of consciousness or self-consciousness. TheaeUtus
The use of all of them is possible to us at all times ; and therefore iMrmoDuc
in any operation of the mind the whole are latent But we are
able to characterise them sufficiently by that part of the complex
action which is the most prominent. We have no difficulty in
distinguishing an act of sight or an act of will from an act of
thought, although thought is present in both of them. Hence the
conception of diflferent faculties or different virtues is precarious,
because each of them is passing into the other, and they are all
one in the mind itself; they appear and reappear, and may all be
regarded as the ever- varying phases or aspects or differences of
the same mind or person.
d. Nearest the sense in the scale of the intellectual faculties is
memory, which is a mode rather than a faculty of the mind, and
accompanies all mental operations. There are two principal
kinds of it, recollection and recognition,— recollection in which
forgotten things are recalled or return to the mind, recognition in
which the mind finds itself again among things once familiar. The
simplest way in which we can represent the former to ourselves
is by shutting our eyes and trying to recall in what we term the
mind's eye the picture of the surrounding scene, or by laying
down the book which we are reading and recapitulating what we
can remember of it. But many times more powerful than
recollection is recognition, perhaps because it is more assisted by
association. We have known and forgotten, and af^er a long
interval the thing which we have seen once is seen again by us,
but with a different feeling, and comes back to us, not as new
knowledge, but as a thing to which we ourselves impart a notion
already present to us ; in Plato's words, we set the stamp upon
the wax. Every one is aware of the difference between the first
and second sight of a place, between a scene clothed with associa-
tions or bare and divested of them. We say to ourselves on
revisiting a spot after a long interval : How many things have
happened since I last saw this 1 There is probably no impression
ever received by us of which we can venture to say that the
vestiges are altogether lost, or that we might not, under some
circumstances, recover it A long-forgotten knowledge may be
easily renewed and therefore is very different from ignorance.
Of the language learnt in childhood not a word may be remem-
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1 88 On the nature and limits of Psychology,
Thtaetetus, bered, and yet, when a new beginning is made, the old habit soon
iMTRopuc returns, the neglected organs come back into use, and the river of
speech finds out the dried-up channel.
€. * Consciousness * is the most treacherous word which is
employed in the study of the mind, for it is used in many senses,
and has rarely, if ever, been minutely analyzed. Like memory, it
accompanies all mental operations, but not always continuously,
and it exists in various degrees. It may be imperceptible or
hardly perceptible : it may be the living sense that our thoughts,
actions, sufiferings, are our own. It is a kind of attention which we
pay to ourselves, and is intern)ittent rather than continuous. Its
sphere has been exaggerated. It is sometimes said to assure us
of our freedom ; but this is an illusion : as there may be a real
freedom without consciousness of it, so there may be a conscious-
ness of freedom without the reality. It may be regarded as a
higher degree of knowledge when we not only know but know
that we know. Consciousness is opposed to habit, inattention,
sleep, death. It may be illustrated by its derivative conscience,
which speaks to men, not only of right and wrong in the abstract,
but of right and wrong actions in reference to themselves and their
circumstances.
f. Association is another of the ever-present phenomena of the
human mind. We speak of the laws of association, but this is an
expression which is confusing, for the phenomenon itself is of the
most capricious and uncertain sort. It may be briefly described
as follows. The simplest case of association is that of sense.
When we see or hear separately one of two things, which we have
previously seen or heard together, the occurrence of the one has
a tendency to suggest the other. So the sight or name of a house
may recall to our minds the memory of those who once lived there.
Like may recall like and everything its opposite. The parts of a
whole, the terms of a series, objects lying near, words having a cus-
tomary order stick together in the mind. A word may bring back a
passage of poetry or a whole system of philosophy ; from one end
of the world or from one pole of knowledge we may travel to the
other in an indivisible instant. The long train of association by
which we pass from one point to the other, involving every sort of
complex relation, so sudden, so accidental, is one of the greatest
wonders of mind. . . . This process however is not always con-
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TION.
On the nature and lifnits of Psychology. 189
tinuous, but often intermittent : we can think of things in isolation Theaeteius,
as well as in association ; we do not mean that they must all hang introduc-
from one another. We can begin again after an interval of rest or
vacancy, as a new train of thought suddenly arises, as, for example,
when we wake of a morning or after violent exercise. Time,
place, the same colour or sound or smell or taste, will often call up
some thought or recollection either accidentally or naturally
associated with them. But it is equally noticeable that the new
thought may occur to us, we cannot tell how or why, by the spon-
taneous action of the mind itself or by the latent influence of the
body. Both science and poetry are made up of associations or
recollections, but we must observe also that the mind is not
wholly dependent on them, having also the power of origination.
There are other processes of the mind which it is good for us to
study when we are at home and by ourselves,— the manner in
which thought passes into act, the conflict of passion and reason in
many stages, the transition from sensuality to love or sentiment
and from earthly love to heavenly, the slow and silent influence of
habit, which little by little changes the nature of men, the sudden
change of the old nature of man into a new one, wrought by shame
or by some other overwhelming impulse. These are the greater
phenomena of mind, and he who has thought of them for himself
will live and move in a better-ordered World, and will himself be
a better-ordered man.
At the other end of the * globus intellectualis,' nearest, not to
earth and sense, but to heaven and God, is the personality of man,
by which he holds communion with the unseen world. Somehow,
he knows not how, somewhere, he knows not where, under this
higher aspect of his being he grasps the ideas of God, freedom and
immortality; he sees the forms of truth, holiness and love, and is
satisfied with them. No account of the mind can be complete
which does not admit the reality or the possibility of another
life. Whether regarded as an ideal or as a fact, the highest part
of man's nature and that in which it seems most nearly to approach
the divine, is a phenomenon which exists, and must therefore be
included within the domain of Psychology.
IV. We admit that there is no perfect or ideal Psychology. It
is not a whole in the same sense in which Chemistry, Physiology,
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TION.
I9<^ On the nature and limits of Psychology.
Tkeaetttus, or Mathematics are wholes : that is to say, it is not a connected
Iw^oDuc unity of knowledge. Compared with the wealth of other sciences,
it rests upon a small number of facts ; and when we go beyond
these, we fall into conjectures and verbal discussions. The facts
themselves are disjointed ; the causes of them run up into other
sciences, and we have no means of tracing them from one to the
other. Yet it may be true of this, as of other beginnings of know-
ledge, that the attempt to put them together has tested the truth of
them, and given a stimulus to the enquiry into them.
Psychology should be natural, not technical. It should take the
form which is the most intelligible to the common understanding,
because it has to do with common things, which are familiar to us
all. It should aim at no more than every reflecting man knows or
can easily verify for himself. When simple and unpretentious, it
is least obscured by words, least liable to fall under the influence
of Physiology or Metaph3rsic. It should argue, not from excep-
tional, but from ordinary phenomena. It should be careful to
distinguish the higher and the lower elements of human nature,
and not allow one to be veiled in the disguise of the other, lest
through the slippery nature of language we should pass imper-
ceptibly from good to evil, from nature in the higher to nature in
the neutral or lower sense. It should assert consistently the unity
of the human faculties, the unity of knowledge, the unity of
God and law. The difference between the will and the affections
and between the reason and the passions should also be recognized
by it.
Its sphere is supposed to be narrowed to the individual soul ;
but it cannot be thus separated in fact. It goes back to the
beginnings of things, to the first growth of language and philosophy,
and to the whole science of man. There can be no truth or com-
pleteness inanystudy of the mind which is confined to the individual.
The nature of language, though not the whole, is perhaps at
present the most important element in our knowledge of it. It is
not impossible that some numerical laws may be found to have a
place in the relations of mind and matter, as in the rest of nature.
The old Pythagorean fancy that the soul * is or has in it harmony '
may in some degree be realized. But the indications of such
numerical harmonies are faint ; either the secret of them lies
deeper than we can discover, or nature may have rebelled against
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On the nature and limits of Psychology. 191
the use of them in the composition of men and animals. It is with Theaetetus,
qualitative rather than with quantitative differences that we are iotrodvc-
concemed in Psychology. The facts relating to the mind which we ^°"*
obtain from Physiology are negative rather than positive. They
show us, not the processes of mental action, but the conditions of
which when deprived the mind ceases to act. It would seem as if
the time had not yet arrived when we can hope to add anything
of much importance to our knowledge of the mind from the
investigations of the microscope. The elements of Psychology
can still only be learnt from reflections on ourselves, which inter-
pret and are also interpreted by our experience of others. The
history of language, of philosophy, and religion, the great thoughts
or inventions or discoveries which move mankind, furnish the
larger moulds or outUnes in which the human mind has been
cast. From these the individual derives so much as he is able to
comprehend or has the opportunity of learning.
6"'
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THEAETETUS.
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE,
Socrates. Theodorus. Theaetetus.
Euclid and Terpsion meet in front of Euclid's house in Megan ; they enter
the honse, and the dialogue is read to them by a servant.
stepta. Euclid. Have you only just arrived from the country, ThtaeUhu.
'42 Terpsion? Eucud,
Terpsion. No, I came some time ago : and I have been in tmwiom.
the Agora looking for you, and wondering that I could not The
12 , Preface.
find you. -^
Euc. But I was not in the city. ^r"*^©"^"*
Terp. Where then ? meet in
Euc. As I was eoine down to the harbour, I met Theae- ^^\.^},
, . . 1 A • r , Euclid s
tetus — he was being carried up to Athens from the army at house in
Corinth. Megara ;
Terp. Was he alive or dead ? veree^^about
Euc. He was scarcely alive, for he has been badly *® danger-
wounded ; but he was suffering even more from the sickness uon*o° *"
which has broken out in the army. Theaetetus,
Terp. The dysentery, you mean ? ^^.
Euc, Yes. ried away
Terp. Alas I what a loss he will be ! ?/*"« '""*
' , tne camp
Euc. Yes, Terpsion, he is a noble fellow; only to-day I atConmh
heard some people highly praising his behaviour in this very
battle.
Terp. No wonder ; I should rather be surprised at hearing
VOL. IV. o
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194
The Preface.
Theaeteius.
Euclid,
Terpsion.
Euclid calls
to mind the
great things
which So-
crates had
early pro-
phesied of
him : and
he has pre-
served the
report of a
conversa-
tion of
Theaetetus
with
Socrates
which took
place just
before the
latter's
death.
They enter
the house,
and Euclid
produces
the roll,
which his
servant
reads to
them.
anything else of him. But why did he go on, instead of stop-
ping at Megara ?
Euc. He wanted to get home: although I entreated and
advised him to remain, he would not listen to me ; so I set
him on his way, and turned back, and then I remembered
what Socrates had said of him, and thought how remarkably
this, like all his predictions, had been fulfilled. I believe
that he had seen him a little before his own death, when
Theaetetus was a youth, and he had a memorable conversa-
tion with him, which he repeated to me when I came to
Athens ; he was full of admiration of his genius, and said
that he would most certainly be a great man, if he lived.
Terp. The prophecy has certainly been fulfilled ; but what
was the conversation ? can you tell me ?
Euc, No, indeed, not offhand ; but I took notes of it as 143
soon as I got home ; these I filled up from memory, writing
them out at leisure ; and whenever I went to Athens, I asked
Socrates about any point which I had forgotten, and on my
return I made corrections; thus I have nearly the whole
conversation written down.
Terp. I remember — you told me ; and I have always been
intending to ask you to show me the writing, but have put
off" doing so ; and now, why should we not read it through ?
— having just come from the country, I should greatly like to
rest.
Euc. I too shall be very glad of a rest, for I went with
Theaetetus as far as Erineum. Let us go in, then, and, while
we are reposing, the servant shall read to us.
Terp, Very good.
Euc. Here is the roll, Terpsion; I may observe that I
have introduced Socrates, not as narrating to me, but as
actually conversing with the persons whom he mentioned
— these were, Theodorus the geometrician (of Cyrene), and
Theaetetus. I have omitted, for the sake of convenience, the
interlocutory words 'I said,* 'I remarked,* which he used
when he spoke of himself, and again, ' he agreed,' or ' dis-
agreed,' in the answer, lest the repetition of them should be
troublesome.
Terp, Quite right, Euclid.
Euc, And now, boy, you may take the roll and read.
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Tkeaetetus, the youthful mathematician. 195
Euclid's servant reads, Theaetetus,
Socrates. If I cared enough about the Cyrenians, Theo- ^^^1;,.
dorus, I would ask you whether there are any rising geo- ^^
metricians or philosophers in that part of the world. But I Dialogue,
am more interested in our own Athenian youth, and I would socrates.
rather know who among them are likely to do well. I meeUng
observe them as far as I can myself, and I enquire of any ^^ cyrene
one whom they follow, and I see that a great many of them in an
follow you, in which they are quite right, considering your ^1^*^
eminence in geometry and in other ways. Tell me then, if asks what
you have met with any one who is good for anything. youths of
^, , ,r r^ Tit .1.1 promise he
Theoaorus, Yes, Socrates, I have become acquainted with has dis-
one very remarkable Athenian youth, whom I commend to covered at
you as well worthy of your attention. If he had been a
beauty I should have been afraid to praise him, lest you in answer"
should suppose that I was in love with him ; but he is no expatiates
beauty, and you must not be offended if I say that he is Merits of
very like you ; for he has a snub nose and projecting eyes, Theaetetus,
although these features are less marked in him than in you. "^^^^^ ^^
144 Seeing, then, that he has no personal attractions, I may beauty, but
freely say, that in all my acquaintance, which is very large, 2?!ll^*^*
I never knew any one who was his equal in natural gifts :
for he has a quickness of apprehension which is almost
unrivalled, and he is exceedingly gentle, and also the most
courageous of men ; there is a union of qualities in him such
as I have never seen in any other, and should scarcely have
thought possible ; for those who, like him, have quick and
ready and retentive wits, have generally also quick tempers ;
they are ships without ballast, and go darting about, and are
mad rather than courageous; and the steadier sort, when
they have to face study, prove stupid and cannot remember.
Whereas he moves surely and smoothly and successfully in
the path of knowledge and enquiry ; and he is full of gentle-
ness, flowing on silently like a river of oil ; at his age, it is
wonderful.
Soc. That is good news ; whose son is he ?
Theod, The name of his father I have forgotten, but the The youth,
youth himself is the middle one of those who are approach- ^h<^*?^^«
. , ... . , , , . , sonofEu-
mg us ; he and his companions have been anointing them- phronms.
o 2
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196
Theoiietus,
socsates,
Thbodorus,
Theabtbtus.
the Sunian,
here enters,
and he and
Socrates
converse.
Theodoras
says that
Socrates
and Theae-
tetus are
alike.
But he is a
geometri-
cian and
philoso-
pher, not a
painter, and
therefore he
need not be
believed.
Socrates begins to argue with Theaetetus.
selves in the outer court, and now they seem to have
finished, and are coming towards us. Look and see whether
you know him.
Soc, I know the youth, but I do not know his name ; he
is the son of Euphronius the Sunian, who was himself an
eminent man, and such another as his son is, according to
your account of him ; I believe that he left a considerable
fortune.
Theod, Theaetetus, Socrates, is his name; but I rather
think that the property disappeared in the hands of trustees;
notwithstanding which he is wonderfully liberal.
Sac, He must be a fine fellow ; tell him to come and sit
by me.
Theod, I will. Come hither, Theaetetus, and sit by So-
crates.
Soc, By all means, Theaetetus, in order that I may see
the reflection of myself in your face, for Theodorus says that
we are alike ; and yet if each of us held in his hands a lyre,
and he said that they were tuned alike, should we at once
take his word, or should we ask whether he who said so was
or was not a musician ?
Theaetetus, We should ask.
Soc, And if we found that he was, we should take his
word ; and if not, not ?
Theaet. True.
Soc, And if this supposed likeness of our faces is a matter
of any interest to us, we should enquire whether he who says
that we are alike is a painter or not ?
Theaet. Certainly we should.
Soc, And is Theodorus a painter ?
Theaet. I never heard that he was.
Soc. Is he a geometrician ?
Theaet, Of course he is, Socrates.
Soc, And is he an astronomer and calculator and musician,
and in general an educated man ?
Theaet, I think so.
Soc, If, then, he remarks on a similarity in our persons,
either by way of praise or blame, there is no particular
reason why we should attend to him.
Theaet. I should say not.
145
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What is knowledge? 197
Soc, But if he praises the virtue or wisdom which are Theaeteius,
the mental endowments of either of us, then he who hears socrates,
the praises will naturally desire to examine him who is THEAErrrus.
praised : and he again should be willing to exhibit himself. He also
TheaeL Very true, Socrates. T^eactetus*
Soc, Then now is the time, my dear Theaetetus, for me to intellect
examine, and for you to exhibit; since although Theodorus J^^n-.andso
has praised many a citizen and stranger in my hearing, never Theaetetus
did I hear him praise any one as he has been praising you. ^^j^
TheaeL I am glad to hear it, Socrates ; but what if he was thatTheo-
onlvJn4estJL_. ^^'
" — ^ — ^Tt • praises may
Soc. Nay, Theodorus is not given to jesting ; and I cannot be shown to
allow you to retract your consent on any such pretence as ^ weii-de-
1 Ti. It .,, 1 1.11 served or
that. If you do, he will have to swear to his words ; and we not.
are perfectly sure that no one will be found to unpugn him.
Do not be shy then, but stand to your word.
TheaeL I suppose I must, if you wish it.
Soc. In the first place, I should like to ask what you learn
of Theodorus : something of geometry, perhaps ?
TheaeL Yes.
Soc. And astronomy and harmony and calculation ?
TheaeL I do my best.
Soc. Yes, my boy, and so do I ; and my desire is to learn Socrates'
of him, or of anybody who seems to understand these things. ^^aUsT
And I get on pretty well in general ; but there is a little knowledge?
difficulty which I want you and the company to aid me in
investigating. Will you answer me a question : ' Is not
learning growing wiser about that which you learn ? *
TheaeL Of course.
Soc. And by wisdom the wise are wise ?
TheaeL Yes.
Soc. And is that different in any way from knowledge ?
TheaeL What?
Soc, Wisdom ; are not men wise in that which they know ?
TheaeL Certainly they are. li »s wis-
Soc. Then wisdom and knowledge are the same ? *^"*
TheaeL Yes. ^^,^
146 Soc. Herein lies the difficulty which I can never solve to proposes a
my satisfaction — What is knowledge ? Can we answer that olf^^^^
question ? What say you ? which of us will speak first ? ject.
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198
Theaetetus is compelled to answer.
Thsoitetus,
SoCltATES,
Thkooorus,
'I'hbaktctus.
Who will
answer ?—
A pause.
At the sug-
gestion of
Theodonis
Theaetetus
is invited to
reply and
consents.
In his
answer,
instead of
giving a
general de-
finition of
knowledge,
he enume-
rates its
parts.
whoever jpisses shall sit down, as at a game of ball, and shall
be donkey, as the boys say; he who lasts out his com-
petitors in the game without missing, shall be our king, and
shall have the right of putting to us any questions which he
pleases . . . Why is there no reply ? I hope, Theodorus,
that I am not betrayed into rudeness by my love of con-
versation ? I only want to make us talk and be friendly and
sociable.
Theod. The reverse of rudeness, Socrates : but I would
rather that you would ask one of the young fellows ; for the
truth is, that I am unused to your game of question and
answer, and I am too old to learn ; the young will be more
suitable, and they will improve more than I shall, for youth
is always able to improve. And so having made a beginning
with Theaetetus, I would advise you to go on with him and
not let him off.
Soc, Do you hear, Theaetetus, what Theodorus says ? The
philosopher, whom you would not like to disobey, and whose
word ought to be a command to a young man, bids me inter-
rogate you. Take courage, then, and nobly say what you
think that knowledge is.
TheaeU Well, Socrates, I will answer as you and he bid
me ; and if I make a mistake, you will doubtless correct me.
Sac. We will, if we can.
TheaeU Then, I think that the sciences which I learn from
Theodorus — geometry, and those which you just now men-
tioned— are knowledge ; and I would include the art of the
cobbler and other craftsmen ; these, each and all of them, are
knowledge.
Sac, Too much, Theaetetus, too much ; the nobility and
liberality of your nature make you give many and diverse
things, when I am asking for one simple thing.
TheaeU What do you mean, Socrates ?
Soc. Perhaps nothing. I will endeavour, however, to ex-
plain what I believe to be my meaning : When you speak of
cobbling, you mean the art or science of making shoes ?
TheaeU Just so.
Sac, And when you speak of carpentering, you mean the
art of making wooden implements ?
TheaeU I do.
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How to get a general notion, 199
Soc, In both cases you define the subject-matter of each Theaetetus,
of the two arts ? Socrates.
TheaeL True. Theaetetus.
Soc, But that, Theaetetus, was not the point of my question : Such enu-
we wanted to know not the subjects, nor yet the number of n^t dcfini!
the arts or sciences, for we were not going to count them, but tion.
we wanted to know the nature of knowledge in the abstract.
Am I not right ?
Theaet Perfectly right.
147 Soc. Let me offer an illustration : Suppose that a person Socraies
were to ask about some very trivial and obvious thing— indicates by
for example, What is clay? anowe were to reply, that tion the son
there is a clay of potters, there is a clay of oven-makers, of answer
there is a clay of brick-makers ; would not the answer be "^^
ridiculous ?
Theaet Truly.
Soc. In the first place, there would be an absurdity in
assuming that he who asked the question would understand
from our answer the nature of *clay,' merely because we
added * of the image-makers,' or of any other workers. How
can a man understand the name of an3rthing, when be does
not know the nature of it ?
Theaet He cannot.
Soc, Then he who does not know what science or know-
ledge is, has no knowledge of the art or science of making
shoes ?
Theaet None.
Soc, Nor of any other science ?
Theaet No.
Soc, And when a man is asked what science or knowledge
is, to give in answer the name of some art or science is
ridiculous ; for the question is, * What is knowledge ? ' and
he replies, * A knowledge of this or that.'
Theaet True.
Soc, Moreover, he might answer shortly and simply, but
he makes an enormous circuit. For example, when asked
about the clay, he might have said simply, that clay is
moistened earth —what sort of clay is not to the point.
Theaet Yes, Socrates, there is no difficulty as you put the
question. You mean, if I am not mistaken, something like
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200 Illustration taken from mathematics,
Thtaeteius, what occurred to me and to my friend here, your namesake
SoouTEs, Socrates, in a recent discussion.
Theaetetus. 5^^^ wijat was that, Theaetetus?
Theaetetus Theaet, Theodorus was writing out for us something about
crates* drift, r^o^s, such as the roots of three or five, showing that they
and tells are incQ|nmensurab]e by the unit : he selected other ex-
uTvented*'^ ampies up to" seventeen —there he stopped. Now as there
general are innumerable roots, the notion occurred to us of attempting
terms for ^^ include them all under one name or class.
the two
kinds of Soc. And did you find such a class ?
roots. Theaet I think that we did ; but I should like to have your
lengths and . . "^
powers. opinion.
Soc. Let me hear.
Theaet We divided all numbers into two classes: those
which are made up of equal factors multiplying into one
another, which we compared to square figures and called
square or equilateral numbers ;— that was one class.
Soc. Very good.
Theaet The intermediate numbers, such as three and five,
and every other number which is made up of unequal factors, 148
either of a greater multiplied by a less, or of a less multiplied
by a greater, and when regarded as a figure, is contained in
unequal sides ; — all these we compared to oblong figures,
and called them oblong numbers.
Soc. Capital ; and what followed ?
Theaet The lines, or sides, which have for their squares
the equilateral plane numbers, were called by us lengths
or magnitudes; and the. lines which are the roots of (or
whose squares are equal to) the oblong numbers, were called
powers or roots ; the reason of this latter name being, that
they are commensurable with the former [i. e. with the so-
called lengths or magnitudes] not in linear measurement, but
in the value of the superficial content of their squares ; and
the same about solids.
Soc. Excellent, my boys; I think that you fully justify the
praises of Theodorus, and that he will not be found guilty
of false witness.
But he can- Thcoet But I am unable, Socrates, to give you a similar
defiidtion^of ^^^swer about knowledge, which is what you appear to want ;
knowledge, and therefore Theodorus is a deceiver after all.
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The pangs of conception, 20 1
Soc, Well, but if some one were to praise you for running, Theaetetus.
and to say that he never met your equal among boys, and sociut««,
afterwards you were beaten in a race by a grown-up man, Thbabtctus.
who was a great runner— would the praise be any the less
true?
Theaet Certainly not.
Soc. And is the discovery of the nature of knowledge so
small a matter, as I just now said ? Is it not one which
would task the powers of men perfect in every way ?
Theaet By heaven, they should be the top of all per-
fection !
Soc. Well, then, be of good cheer; do not say that
Theodorus was mistaken about you, but do your best to
ascertain the true nature of knowledge, as well as of other
things.
Theaet I am eager enough, Socrates, if that would bring
to light the truth.
Soc. Come, you made a good beginning just now ; let your
own answer about roots be your model, and as you compre-
hended them all in one class, try and bring the many sorts of
knowledge under one definition.
Theaet I can assure you, Socrates, that I have tried very
often, when the report of questions asked by you was brought
to me ; but I can neither persuade myself that I have a satis-
factory answer to give, nor hear of any one who answers as
you would have him ; and I cannot shake off" a feeling of
anxiety.
Soc. These are the pangs of labour, my dear Theaetetus ; Socrates
you have something within you which you are bringing to J^^fi^^^es
the birth. ' of labour.
Theaet. I do not know, Socrates ; I only say what I feel.
149 Soc. And have you never heard, simpleton, that I am
the son of a midwife, brave and burly, whose name was
Phaenarete ?
Theaet Yes, I have.
Soc. And that I myself practise midwifery ?
Theaet No, never.
Soc. Let me tell you that I do though, my friend : but you Socrates a
must not reveal the secret, as the world in general have not By^^^^sig
found me out ; and therefore they only say of me, that I am a secret.
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202
Socrates and the midwives.
Socrates,
Thbaktbtus.
Like the
midwives,
he is past
bearing.
Thtaetitus, the Strangest of mortals and drive men to their wits' end.
Did you ever hear that too ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc, Shall I tell you the reason ?
Theaet. By all means.
Soc, Bear in mind the whole business of the midwives,
and then you will see my meaning better: — No woman, as
you are probably aware, who is still able to conceive and
bear, attends other women, but only those who are past
bearing.
Theaet, Yes, I know.
Soc. The reason of this is said to be that Artemis— the
goddess of childbirth — is not a mother, and she honours
those who are like herself; but she could not allow the
barren to be midwives. because human nature cannot know
the mystery of an art without experience ; and therefore she
assigned this office to those who are too old to bear.
Theaet, I dare say.
Soc, And I dare say too, or rather I am absolutely certain,
that the midwives know better than others who is pregnant
and who is not ?
Theaet, Very true.
Soc, And by the use of potions and incantations they are
able to arouse the pangs and to sooth^ them at will ; they
can make those bear who have a difficulty in bearing, and
if they think fit they can smother the embryo in the womb.
Theaet, They can.
Soc, Did you ever remark that they are also most cunning
matchmakers, and have a thorough knowledge of what unions
are likely to produce a brave brood ?
Theaet, No, never.
Soc. Then let me tell you that this is their greatest pride,
more than cutting the umbilical cord. And if you reflect,
you will see that the same art which cultivates and gathers in
the fruits of the earth, will be most likely to know in what
soils the several plants or seeds should be deposited.
Theaet, Yes, the same art.
Soc, And do you suppose that with women the case is
otherwise ?
Theaet, I should think not. 150
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He is the true midwife. 203
Soc. Certainly not ; but midwives are respectable women Theaetttus,
who have a character to lose, and they avoid this department sooute*.
of their profession, because they are afraid of being called THEArrExus.
procuresses^ which is a name given to those who join to-
gelKenfian and woman in an unlawful and unscientific way ;
and yet the true midwife is also the true and only match-
maker.
Theaet, Clearly.
Soc, Such are the midwives, whose task is a very im- Hisbusi-
portant one, but not so important as mine; for women do f^^^^**
not bring into the world at one time real children, and at than theirs,
another time counterfeits which are with difficulty distin- yf*^?**?!"'
'\ ^--r^r^ 1* 1 1 1. p \ ally similar.
guished from them ; if they did, then the discernment of the He attends
true and false birth would be the crowning achievement of ™«°' ^^^
the art of midwifery — you would think so ? he takes
Theaet. Indeed I should. care of the
Soc, Well, my art of midwifery is in most respects like ^^Siebody.
theirs ; but differs, in that I attend men and not women. But, unlike
and I look after their souls when they are in labour, and not ^^ ™* ^^s
after their bodies : and the triumph of my art is in thoroughly disUn-
examining whether the thought which the mind of the young f^*{^/||**^
man brings forth is a false idol or a noble and true birth, from the
And like the midwives, I am barren, and the reproach which counterfeit,
is often made against me, that I ask questions of others and
have not the wit to answer them myself, is very just — the
reason is, that the god compels me to be a midwife, but does
not allow me to bring forth. And therefore I am not myself
at all wise, nor have I an3rthing to show which is the
invention or birth of my own soul, but those who converse
with me profit. Some of them appear dull enough at first,
but afterwards, as our acquaintance ripens, if the god is
gracious to them, they all make astonishing progress; and
this in the opinion of others as well as in their own. It
is quite clear that they never learned anything from me;
the many fine discoveries to which they cling are of their
own making. But to me and the god they owe their delivery.
And the proof of my words is, that many of them in Thebe-
their ignorance, either in their self-conceit despising me, ^^iourof
or falling under the influence of others', have gone away
* Reading with the Bodleian MS. % ainoX inr* 0<Xmv irutrBims.
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204
Tkeaetetus is in .labour.
Thcactetus,
SOCEATBS.
Like mid-
wives, he is
a match-
maker.
Theaetelus
is exhorted
to submit
himself to
the treat-
ment, and
not to wax
wroth if
sWlte dar-
ling idol is
taken from
him.
too soon; and have not only lost the children of whom
I had previously delivered them by an ill bringing up, but
have stifled whatever else they had in them by evil com-
munications, being fonder of lies and shams than of the
truth; and they have at last ended by seeing themselves,
as others see them, to be great fools. Aristeides, the son of
Lysimachus, is one of them, and there are many others. 151
The^U;yantsjoften return to me, and beg that I would consort
with them again— they are ready to go to me on their knees
— and then, if my familiar allows, which is not always the /
case, I receive them, and they begin to grow again. Dire ""
are the pangs which my art is able to arouse and to allay
in those who consort with me, just like the pangs of women
in childbirth ; night and day they are full of perplexity and
travail which is even worse than that of the women. So
much for them. And there are others, Theaetetus, who
come to me apparently having nothing in them ; and as
I know that they have no need of my art, I xoaxthem into
marrying some one, and by the grace of God I can generally
tell who is likely to do them good. Many of them I have
given away to Prodicus, and many to other inspired sages.
I tell you this long story, friend Theaetetus, because I sus-
pect, as indeed you seem to think yourself, that you are
in labour— great with some conception. Come then to me,
who am a midwife's son and myself a midwife, and do your
best to answer the questions which I will ask you. And
if I abstract and expose your first-born, because I discover
upon inspection that the conception which you have formed
is a vain shadow, do not quarrel with me on that account, as
the manner of women is when their first children are taken
from them. For I have actually known some who were
ready to bite me when I deprived them of a darling folly ;
they did not perceive that I acted from goodwill, not knowing
that no god is the enemy of man— that was not within the
range of their ideas ; neither am I their enemy in all this,
but it would be wrong for me to admit falsehood, or to stifle
the truth. Once more, then, Theaetetus, I repeat my old
question, ' What is knowledge ? ' — and do not say that you
cannot tell ; but quit yourself like a man, and by the help of
God you will be able to tell.
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His first conception. 205
Theaet, At any rate, Socrates, after such an exhortation Thtaetttus,
I should be ashamed of not trying to do my best. Now socrates.
he who knows perceives what he knows, and, as far as I can theaetetus.
see at present, knowledge is perception. in answer
Soc. Bravely said, boy; that is the way in which you tationhe"
should express your opinion. And now, let us examine boldly re-
together this conception of yours, and see whether it is K^S^iedije
a true birth or a mere wind-e^ r—You say that knowledge is percep-
is perception ? "^"*
Theaet, Yes.
Soc, Well, you have delivered yourself of a very important This is only
1 52 doctrine about knowledge ; it is indeed the opinion of Prota- ^^^^^
goras, who has another way of expressing it. Man, he says, pressing
is the measurer of all things, of the existence of things that Protagoras'
, ^, -i-i. , «.r doctnne,
are, and of the non-existence of things that are not: — You -Man is the
have read him ? measure of
Theaet O yes, again and again. f l*th"^s
Sac, Doeis he not say that things are to you such as they a™ as they
appear to you, and to me such as they appear to me, and that yo^or me
you and I are men ? at any mo-
TheaeL Yes, he says so. "'*^^-
Soc, A wise man is not likely to talk nonsense. Let us
try to understand him : the same wind is blowing, and yet
one of us may be cold and the other not, or one may be
slightly and the other very cold ?
Theaet, Quite true.
Soc. Now is the wind, regarded not in relation to us but
absolutely, cold or not ; or are we to say, with Protagoras,
that the wind is cold to him who is cold, and not to him
who is not ?
Theaet, I suppose the last.
Soc, Then it must appear so to each of them ?
Theaet, Yes.
Soc, And 'appears to him' means the same as 'he per-
ceives.'
Theaet, True.
Soc, Then appearing and perceiving coincide in the case This is true
of hot and cold, and in similar instances ; for things appear, *^ ^^^
or may be supposed to be, to each one such as he perceives
them?
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206
The secret of Protagoras,
Thtaeietus,
sociatss,
Theaktbtus.
But Prota-
goras had
also a
hidden
meaning, —
'All things
are relative
and in mo-
tion.' In
this the
ancients
agree with
him.
The praises
of motion.
TheaeL Yes.
Sac, Then perception is always of existence, and being the
same as knowledge is unerring ?
Theaet. Clearly.
Soc. In the name of the Graces, what an almighty wise
man Protagoras must have been ! He spoke these things in
aj)arable to the common herd, like you and me, but told the
truth, ' his Truth V in secret to his own disciples.
Theaet, What do you mean, Socrates ?
Soc, I am about to speak of a high argument, in which all
things are said to be relative ; you cannot rightly call any-
thing by any name, such as great or small, heavy or light, for
the great will be small and the heavy light— there is no
single thing or quality, but out of motion and change and
admixture all things are becoming relatively to one another,
which 'becoming' is by us incorrectly called being, but is
really becoming, for nothing ever is, but all things are
becoming. Summon all philosophers — Protagoras, Hera-
cleitus, Empedocles, and the rest of them, one after another,
and with the exception of Parmenides they will agree with
you in this. Summon the great masters of either kind of
poetry — Epicharmus, the prince of Comedy, and Homer of
Tragedy ; when the latter sings of
'Ocean whence sprang the gods, and mother Tethys/
does he not mean that all things are the offspring of flux
and motion ?
Theaet, I think so.
Soc, And who could take up arms against such a great 153
army having Homer for its general, and not appear ridicu-
lous* ?
Theaet, Who indeed, Socrates ?
Soc, Yes, Theaetetus ; and there are plenty of other proofs
which will show that motion is the source of what is called
being and becoming, and inactivity of not-being and destruc-
tion ; for fire and warmth, which are supposed to be the
parent and guardian of all other things, are bom of move-
* In allusion to a book of Protagoras* which bore this title.
» Cp. Cratylus 401 E ff.
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Motion is a goody rest an evil. 207
ment and of friction, which is a kind of motion * ; — is not this Thtaetetus,
the origin of fire ? Sociates.
TheaeU It is. THRArrrru..
Soc, And the race of animals is generated in the same By motion
wav ? *" ^*"^
J are gener-
TheaeL Certainly. ated. and
Soc. And is not the bodily habit spoiled by rest and idle- ^^^f^^
ness, but preserved for a long time* by motion and exercise ? and air, are
TheaeL True. ^jJj^^rit
Sac. And what of the mental habit? Is not the soul ^*'
informed, and improved, and preserved by study and atten-
tion, which are motions ; but when at rest, which in the soul
only means want of attention and study, is uninformed, and
speedily forgets whatever she has learned ?
Theaet. True.
Sac. Then motion is a good, and rest an evil, to the soul
as well as to the body ?
TheaeL Clearly.
Soc. I may add, that breathless calm, stillness and the like The ^^j^
waste and impair, while wind and storm preserve : and the ^^^ ^^'
i-iii»iT 1 . ment of the
palmarx^rgument of all, which I strongly urge, is the golden golden
chain in Homer, by which he means the sun, thereby indi- *^^**"-
eating that so long as the sun and the heavens go round in
their orbits, all things human and divine are and are pre-
served, but if they were chained up and their motions ceased,
then all things would be destroyed, and, as the saying is,
turned upside down.
Theaet, I believe, Socrates, that you have truly explained
his meaning.
Soc» Then now apply his doctrine to perception, my good Again,
friend, and first of all to vision ; that which you call white ^^cSon
colour is not in your eyes, and is not a distinct thing which passing be-
exists out of them. And you must not assign any place to it : ^^®^ V^f
for if it had position it would be, and be at rest, and there object,
would be no process of becoming.
TheaeL Then what is colour?
Sac. Let us carry out the principle which has just been
affirmed, that nothing is self-existent, and then we shall see
» Reading rovro U Klrnins. ^ Rtading M toA^.
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208
The contradictory appearances of sensible things
Theaeietus,
SOCRATRS,
THEAETETrS.
Nothing
which is
perceived
by different
men or by
the same
man at dif-
ferent times
is the same.
Contradic-
tions aris-
ing out of
relations of
numbers.
that white, black, and every other colour, arises out of the
eye meeting the appropriate motion, and that what we call a
colour is in each case neither the active nor the passive 1 54
element, but something which passes between them, and is
peculiar to each percipient ; are you quite certain that the
several colours appear to a dog or to any animal whatever
as they appear to you ?
TheaeU Far from it.
Sac. Or that anything appears the same to you as to
another man ? Are you so profoundly convinced of this ?
Rather would it not be true that it never appears exactly the
same to you, because you are never exactly the same ?
TheaeL The latter.
Soc, And if that with which I compare myself in size\ or
which I apprehend by touch, were great or white or hot, it
could not become different by mere contact with another
unless it actually changed; nor again, if the comparing or
apprehending subject were great or white or hot, could this,
when unchanged from within, become changed by any ap-
proximation or affection of any other thing. The fact is
that in our ordinary way of speaking we allow ourselves to
be driven into most ridiculous and wonderful contradictions,
as Protagoras and all who take his line of argument would
remark.
TheaeU How? and of what sort do you mean?
Sac. A little instance will sufficiently explain my meaning :
Here are six dice, which are more by a half when compared
with four, and fewer by a half than twelve— they are more
and also fewer. How can you or any one maintain the
contrary ?
TheaeU Very true.
Soc, Well, then, suppose that Protagoras or some one asks
whether anything can become greater or more if not by
increasing, how would you answer him, Theaetetus ?
TheaeU I should say ' No,' Socrates, if I were to speak my
mind in reference to this last question, and if I were not
afraid of contradicting my former answer.
Sac, Capital ! excellent ! spoken like an oracle, my boy I
Reading with the MSS. f -rapafitrpo^fi^Sa.
^
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arise out of the violation of laws of thought. 209
And if you reply 'Yes/ there will be a case for Euripides; Thtactetus.
for our tongue will be unconvinced, but not our mind \ Socrates,
Theaet Very true. * Thea.tetu«.
Sac, The thoroughbred Sophists, who know all that can
be known about the mind, and argue only out of the super-
fluity of their wits, would have had a regular sparring-match
over this, and would have knocked their arguments together
finely. But you and I, who have no professional aims, only
desire to see what is the mutual relation of these principles,
— whether they are consistent with each other or not.
Theaet Yes, that would be my desire.
Sac. And mine too. But since this is our feeling, and Three
there is plenty of time, why should we not calmly ^"^d Jho*^ht_
155 patiently review our own thoughts, and thoroughly examine (i)Nothing.
and see what these appearances in us really are? If I am while re-
not mistaken, they will be described by us as follows : — first, equal to
that nothing can become greater or less, either in number ^^^^' ^^
or magnitude, while remaining equal to itself— you would fewer or
agree ? more,
Theaet. Yes. ^^
Sac. Secondly, that without addition or subtraction there (2) Without
is no increase or diminution of anything, but only equality, ^^ction
Theaet Quite true. nothing can
Sac. Thirdly, that what was not before cannot be after- |pcrfas« ^^
wards, without becoming and having become. (3) Nothing
Theaet. Yes, truly. can be what
Spc. These three axioms, if I am not mistaken, are without be-
fighting with one another in our minds in the case of the coming,
dice, or, again, in such a case as this — if I were to say that axiwns
I, who am of a certain height and taller than you, may within seem to
a year, without gaining or losing in height, be not so tall ^^^^^^
— not that I should have lost, but that you would have in-
creased. In such a case, I am afterwards what I once was
not, and yet I have not become; for I could not have
become without becoming, neither could I have become less
without losing somewhat of my height ; and I could give you
ten thousand examples of similar contradictions, if we admit
them at all. I believe that you follow me, Theaetetus ; for
^ In allnsion to the well-known line of Enripides, Hippol. 6ia :
VOL. IV. P
Digitized by VjOOQIC
2IO The Heraclitean doctrine: All is motion*
Theaeutus, I suspect that you have thought of these questions before
Socrates, HOW.
thkaktbtus. Theaet Yes, Socrates, and I am amazed when I think of
them ; by the Gods I am ! and I want to know what on
earth they mean ; and there are times when my head quite
swims with the contemplation of them.
Sac. I see, my dear Theaetetus, that Theodorus had a
true insight into your nature when he said that you were a
philosopher, for wonder is the feeling of a philosopher^ and
philosophy begins in wonder. He was not a bad genealogist
who said that Iris (the messenger of heaven) is the child of
Thaumas (wonder). But do you begin to see what is the
explanation of this perplexity on the hypothesis which we
attribute to Protagoras ?
Theaet, Not as yet.
Further de- Soc. Then you Will be obliged to me if I help you to
ofthTdoc-^ unearth the hidden ' truth ' of a famous man or school.
trine of Theaet To be sure, I shall be very much obliged.
♦^^'^fl^ Soc. Take a look round, then, and see that none of the
to meet ta^ ...
difficuityT-^ uninitiated are listening. Now by the uninitiated I mean the
7?^ "°*"' people who believe in nothing but what they can grasp in
believe only their hands, and who will not allow that action or generation
in what or anything invisible can have real existence,
hold in ^^ Theaet Yes, indeed, Socrates, they are very hard and
their hands impenetrable mortals.
kept out of S^^' ^^^} niy boy, outer barbarians. Far more ingenious 156
thesecrek^re the brethren whose mysteries I am about to reveal to
you. Their first principle is, that all is motion, and upon
this all the affections of which we were just now speaking are
supposed to depend : there is nothing but motion, which has
two forms, one active and the other passive, both in endless
number ; and out of the union and friction of them there is
generated s^^rogeny endless in number, having two forms,
sense and theo^ecT of sense, which are ever breaking forth
and coming to the birth at the same moment. The senses
are variously named hearing, seeing, smelling ; there is the
sense of heat, cold, pleasure, pain, desire, fear, and many
more which have names, as well as innumerable others which
are without them ; each has its kindred object, — each variety
of colour has a corresponding variety of sight, and so with
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Two kinds of motion, a slower and a quicker. 211
sound and hearing, and with the rest of the senses and the Theaetetus,
objects akin to them. Do you see, Theaetetus, the bearings soc«ate8,
of this tale on the preceding argument ? XHEABrrrus.
Theaet, Indeed I do not.
Soc. Then attend, and I will try to finish the story. The All things
purport is that all these things are in motion, as I was saying; ^^^^^'
and that this motion is of two kinds, a slower and a quicker ; slower and
and the slower elements have their motions in the same place PfV^^^iSf^
*^ land. The
and with reference to things near them, and so they beget ; slower ob-
but what is begotten is swifter, for it is carried to and fro, and J^^ ™*^^®
moves from place to place. Apply this to sense : — When the changing
eye and the appropriate object meet together and give birth place, and
to whiteness and the sensation connatural with it, which could \^i^
not have been given by either of them going elsewhere, then, which are
while the sight is flowing from the eye, whiteness proceeds JJo,J^*^"*^
from the object which combines in producing the colour ; and Application
so the eye is fulfilled with sight, and really sees, and becomes, of the
not sight, but a seeing eye ; and the object which combined to JJ*^^ ^°
form the colour is fulfilled with whiteness, and becomes not
whiteness but a white thing, whether wood or stone or what-
ever the object may be which happens to be coloured white \
And this is true of all sensible objects, hard, warm, and the like,
which are similarly to be regarded, as I was saying before,
157 not as having any absolute existence, but as being all of them
of whatever kind generated by motion in their intercourse
with one another ; for of the agent and patient, as existing in
separation, no trustworthy conception, as they say, can be
formed, for the agent has no existence until united with the
patient, and the patient has no existence until united with the
agent ; and that which by uniting with something becomes an
agent, by meeting with some other thing is converted into a
patient. And from all these considerations, as I said at first, Everything
there arises a general reflection, that there is no one self- ^™«s»
existent thing, but everything is becoming and in relation ; comes reia-
"^ and being must be altogether abolished, although from habit ^^<^iy *?
and ignorance we are compelled even in this discussion to else,
retain the use of the term. But great philosophers tell us
that we are not to allow either the word 'something,' or
* belonging to something,* or ' to me,' or ' this ' or ' that,' or
' Reading i/nww or ^yovy and omitting XP^M^
P 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
212
Dreams and illusions.
Theaeietus,
sockatbs,
Thbabtctus.
This ap-
plies not
only to in-
dividuals,
but also to
Socrates is
repeating
these
' charming
specula-
tions ' only
to draw out
Theaetetus.
Dreams
and illu-
sions are a
stumbling-
block to
the theory,
as they im-
ply false-
ness in per-
ception.
any other detaining name to be used; in the language of
nature all things are being created and destroyed, coming
into being and passing into new forms ; nor can any name fix
or detain them ; he who attempts to fix them is easily refuted.
And this should be the way of speaking, not only of particu-
lars but of aggregates ; such aggregates as are expressed in
the word 'man,' or 'stone/ or any name of an animal or of
a class. O Theaetetus, are not these speculations sweet
as honey? And do you not like the taste of them in the
mouth ?
Theaei, I do not know what to say, Socrates ; for, indeed,
I cannot make out whether you are giving your own opinion
or only wanting to draw me out.
Soc. You forget, my friend, that I neither know, nor
profess to know, an3rthing of these matters; you are the
person who is in labour, I am the barren midwife ; and this
is why I soothe you, and offer you one good thing afler
another, that you may taste them. And I hope that I may at
last help to bring your own opinion into the light of day :
when this has been accomplished, then we will determine
whether what you have brought forth is only a wind-egg or a
real and genuine birth. Therefore, keep up your spirits, and
answer like a man what you think.
TheaeU Ask me.
Soc, Then once more : Is it your opinion that nothing is
but what becomes ? — the good and the noble, as well as all
the other things which we were just now mentioning ?
TheaeU When I hear you discoursing in this style, I think
that there is a great deal in what you say, and I am very
ready to assent.
Soc. Let us not leave the argument unfinished, then ; for
there still remains to be considered an objection which may
be raised about dreams and diseases^" in particular about
madness, and the various illusions of hearing and sight, or of
other senses. For you know that in all these cases the
esse-percipi theory appears to be unmistakably refuted, since 158
in dreams and illusions we certainly have false perceptions ;
and far from saying that everything is which appears, we
should rather say that nothing is which appears.
TheaeU Very true, Socrates.
t
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The difficulty occasioned by them. 213
Soc^ But then, my boy, how can any one contend that Thtoitetm,
knowledge is perception, or that to every man what appears socrates,
• o Theactstus.
Theaet. I am afraid to say, Socrates, that I have nothing
to answer, because you rebuked me just now for making this
excuse ; but I certainly cannot undertake to argue that mad-
men or dreamers think truly, when they imagine, some of
them that they are gods, and others that they can fly, and
are flying in their sleep.
Sac, Do you see another question which can be raised
about these phenomena, notably about dreaming and waking?
TheaeL What question ?
Soc. A question which I think that you must often have How, when
heard persons ask : — How can you determine whether at this ^^*^
moment we are sleeping, and all our thoughts are a dream ; that we are
or whether we are awake, and talking to one another in the ^ot asleep,
wakmg state ? vtrsa'i
Theaet Indeed, Socrates, I do not know how to prove the
one any more than the other, for in both cases the facts
precisely correspond ; and there is no difficulty in supposing
that during all this discussion we have been talking to one
another in a dream; and when in a dream' we seem to be
narrating dreams, the resemblance of the two states is quite
astonishing.
Soc. You see, then, that a doubt about the reality of sense
is easily raised, since there may even be a doubt whether we
are awake or in a dream. And as our time is equally divided
between sleeping and waking, in either sphere of existence
the soul contend^ that the thoughts which are present to our
minds at the time are true ; and during one half of our lives
we afiSrm the truth of the one, and, during the other halfi of
the other ; and are equally confident of both.
TheaeL Most true.
Sac. And may not the same be said of madness and other
disorders ? the difierence is only that the times are not equal.
TheaeL Certainly.
Sac. And is truth or falsehood to be determined by dura-
tion of time ?
TheaeL That would be in many ways ridiculous.
* Or perhaps, reading ffTop, * in our waking state.'
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214
The answer: Dreams are true to the dreamer ^
Theaetetus,
Socrates,
TuBAvrerus.
Resolution
of the diffi-
culty by the
champions
of appear-
ance:—
What is
wholly
other can in
no way be
the same,
and differ-
ent agents
and pa-
tients, in
conjunc-
tion, pro-
duce differ-
ent results.
Socrates in
health is
unlike So-
crates in
sickness ;
Soc. But can you certainly determine by any other means
which of these opinions is true?
Theaet, I do not think that I can.
Soc, Listen, then, to a statement of the other side of the
argument, which is made by the champions of appearance.
They would say, as I imagine — Can that which is wholly
other than something, have the same quality as that from
which it differs? and observe, Theaetetus, that the word
'other' means not 'partially,' but 'wholly other.'
Theaet Certainly, putting the question as you do, that 159
which is wholly other cannot either potentially or in any
other way be the same.
Soc. And must therefore be admitted to be unlike ?
Theaet True.
Soc. If, then, anything happens to become like or unlike
itself or another, when it becomes like we call.it the same —
when unlike, other ?
Theaet Certainly.
Soc. Were we not sa3dng that there are agents many and
infinite, and patients many and infinite ?
Theaet Yes.
Soc. And also that different combinations will produce
results which are not the same, but different?
Theaet Certainly.
Soc. Let us take you and me, or anything as an example :
— There is Socrates in health, and Socrates sick — Are they
like or unlike ?
Theaet You mean to compare Socrates in health as a
whole, and Socrates in sickness as a whole ?
Soc. Exactly ; that is my meaning.
Thaeat I answer, they are unlike.
Soc. And if unlike, they are other ?
Theaet Certainly.
Soc. And would you not say the same of Socrates sleeping
and waking, or in any of the states which we were mentioning?
Theaet I should.
Soc. All agents have a different patient in Socrates,
accordingly as he is well or ill.
Theaet Of course.
Soc. And I who am the patient, and that which is the
Digitized by VjOOQIC
and he alone can decide. 215
agent, will produce something different in each of the two Theaetetus,
cases? sociuTEs,
Theaet Certainly. Theaetetus.
Soc, The wine which I drink when I am in health, appears
sweet and pleasant to me ?
Theaet True.
Soc. For, as has been already acknowledged, the patient andthcre-
and agent meet together and produce sweetness and a per- oniynaturai
ception of sweetness, which are in simultaneous motion, and that the
the perception which comes from the patient makes the ^^jj^^f
tongue percipient, and the quality of sweetness which arises wine should
out of and is moving about the wine, makes the wine both P"xi"ce a
sweet taste
to be and to appear sweet to the healthy tongue. in the one
Theaet, Certainly ; that has been already acknowledged. <^' * ^»^-
Soc. But when I am sick, the wine really acts upon other,
another and a diflferent person ?
Theaet, Yes.
Soc. The combination of the draught of wine, and the
Socrates who is sick, produces quite another result ; which
is the sensation of bitterness in the tongue, and the motion
and creation of bitterness in and about the wine, which
becomes not bitterness but something bitter; as I myself
become not perception but percipient ?
Theaet, True.
Soc, There is no other object of which I shall ever have
160 the same perception, for another object would give another
perception, and would make the percipient other and dif-
ferent ; nor can that object which affects me, meeting another
subject, produce the same, or become similar, for that too
will produce another result from another subject, and become
different.
Theaet, True.
Soc, Neither can I by myself, have this sensation, nor the
object by itself, this quality.
Theaet, Certainly not
Soc, When I perceive I must become percipient of some-
thing— there can be no such thing as perceiving and perceiv-
ing nothing ; the object, whether it become sweet, bitter, or
of any other quality, must have relation to a percipients-
nothing can become sweet which is sweet to no one.
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2l6
Theaetetus,
sockates,
Thsaetetus,
Thbodorus.
Each object
is relative to
one perci-
pient only,
and he
alone can
judge of its
truth.
Thus know-
ledge is
perception.
Homer,
Heradei-
tus. and
their com-
pany agree
in this with
Protagoras.
Let us in-
spect the
new-bom
babe.
The new-bom babe of Theaetetus.
Theaet. Certainly not.
Soc. Then the inference is, that we [the agent and patient]
are or become in relation to one another; there is a law
which binds us one to the other, but not to any other
existence, nor each of us to himself; and therefore we can
only be bound to one another; so that whether a person
says that a thing is or becomes, he must say that it is or
becomes to or of or in relation to something else ; but he
must not say or allow any one else to say that an3rthing is or
becomes absolutely : — such is our conclusion.
Theaet Very true, Socrates.
Soc, Then, if that which acts upon me has relation to
me and to no other, I and no other am the percipient
of it?
Theaet Of course.
Soc. Then my perception is true to me, being inseparable
from my own being ; and, as Protagoras says, to myself I am
judge of what is and what is not to me.
Theaet I suppose so.
Soc. How then, if I never err, and if my mind never trips
in the conception of being or becoming, can I fail of knowing
that which I perceive ?
Theaet You cannot.
Soc. Then you were quite right in affirming that know-
ledge is only perception ; and the meaning turns out to be
the same, whether with Homer and Heracleitus, and all that
company, you say that all is motion and flux, or with the
great sage Protagoras, that man is the measure of all things ;
or with Theaetetus, that, given these premises, perception is
knowledge. Am I not right, Theaetetus, and is not this
your new-born child, of which I have delivered you ? What
say you ?
Theaet I cannot but agree, Socrates.
Soc. Then this is the child, however he may turn out,
which you and I have with difficulty brought into the world.
And now that he is born, we must run round the hearth with
him, and see whether he is worth rearing, or is only a wind-
egg and a sham. Is he to be reared in any case, and not
exposed ? or will you bear to see him rejected, and not get
into a passion if I take away your first-born ?
i6i
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Socrates objects to being a bag of theories. 217
Theod, Theaetetus will not be angry, for he is very good- Theaetetus,
natured. But tell me, Socrates, in heaven's name, is this, sooute^
after all, not the truth ? XiooDotui.
Sac. You, Theodorus, are a lover of theories, and now
you innocently fancy that I am a bag full of them, and can
easily pull one out which will overthrow its predecessor.
But you do not see that in reality none of these theories
come from me ; they all come from him who talks with me.
I only know just enough to extract them from the wisdom of
another, and to receive them in a spirit of fairness. And
now I shall say nothing myself, but shall endeavour to elicit
something from our young friend.
Theod. Do as you say, Socrates ; you are quite right.
Sac. Shall I tell you, Theodorus, what amazes me in your
acquaintance Protagoras.
Theod. What is it?
Soc. I am charmed with his doctrine, that what appears is Why did
to each one, but I wonder that he did not begin his book on "^^ ^^^'
' ® goras say,
Truth with a declaration that a pig or a dog- faced baboon, or 'A pig is the \^
some other yet stranger monster which has sensation, is the "Jf^*^ ?p ;
measure of all things ; then he might have shown a magnifi* —for a pig
cent contempt for our opinion of him by informing us at the ^!^ 5*'***'
outset that while we were reverencing him like a God for his
wisdom he was no better than a tadpole, not to speak of his
fellow-men — ^would not this have produced an overpowering
effect? For if truth is only sensation, and no man can
discern another's feelings better than he, or has any superior
right to determine whether his opinion is true or false, but
each, as we have several times repeated, is to himself the sole
judge, and everything that he judges is true and right, why, Hisdoc-
my friend, should Protagoras be preferred to the place of ^^***^^'
wisdom and instruction, and deserve to be well paid, and we cuts away
- poor ignoramuses have to go to him, if each one is the disown and
\^measure of his own wisdom? Must he not be talking 'ad claims to
captandum' in all this? I say nothine of the ridiculous superior
predicament in which my own midwifery and the whole art
of dialectic is placed ; for the attempt to supervise or refute
the notions or opinions of others would be a tedious and
162 enormous piece of folly, if to each man his own are right ;
and this must be the case if Protagoras' Truth is the real
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2 18 Theodorus declines to answer : Theaetetus resumes,
Tfuaettius, truth, and the philosopher is not merely amusing himself by
SoCTiATEs. giving oracles out of the shrine of his book.
Theodorus, Theod, He was a friend of mine, Socrates, as you were
saying, and therefore I cannot have him refuted by my lips,
nor can I oppose you when I agree with you ; please, then,
to take Theaetetus again ; he seemed to answer very nicely.
Soc. If you were to go into a Lacedaemonian palestra,
Theodorus, would you have a right to look on at the naked
wrestlers, some of them making a poor figure, if you did not
strip and give them an opportunity of judging of your own
person ?
Theod, Why not, Socrates, if they would allow me, as I
think you will, in consideration of my age and stiffness ; let
some more supple youth try a fall with you, and do not drag
me into the gymnasium.
Soc, Your will^js my will, Theodorus, as the proverbial
philosophers^say, and therefore I will return to the sage
Theaetetus : Tell me, Theaetetus, in reference to what I was
saying, are you not lost in wonder, like myself, when you
find that all of a sudden you are raised to the level of the
wisest of men, or indeed of the gods ? — for you would assume
the measure of Protagoras to apply to the gods as well as
men ?
Theaetetus Theact, Certainly I should, and I confess to you that I am
his^o^nioiT '^^^ ^^ wonder. At first hearing, I was quite satisfied with
of Protago- the doctrine, that whatever appears is to each one, but now
ras' theory, ^j^^ ^^^^ ^f things has changed.
But Prota- Soc, Why, my dear boy, you are young, and therefore your
^yUiat^he ^^^ ^^ quickly caught and your mind influenced by popular
had been arguments. Protagoras, or some one speaking on his behalf,
influenced ^jj doubtless Say in reply, — Good people, young and old,
clap-trap, you meet and harangue, and bring in the gods, whose exist-
ence or non-existence I banish from writing and speech, or
you talk about the reason of man being degraded to the level
of the brutes, which is a telling argument with the multitude,
but not one word of proof or demonstration do you offer. All
is probability with you, and yet surely you and Theodorus
had better reflect whether you are disposed to admit of pro-
bability and figures of speech in matters of such importance. 163
He or any other mathematician who argued from proba-
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Difference between knowledge and perception. 219
bilities and likelihoods in geometry, would not be worth an Tkeaetetm,
*Ce. SOOUTBS,
TheaeL But neither you nor we, Socrates, would be satis- thba«t«tu*
fied with such arguments.
Soc. Then you and Theodorus mean to say that we must A new start,
look at the matter in some other way ?
Theaet. Yes, in quite another way. \^
Soc. And the way will be to ask whether perception is or is pcrccp-
is not the same as knowledge ; for this was the real point of 1^"^"°^'
our argument, and with a view to this we raised (did we
not?) those many strange questions. •
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc. Shall we say that we know every thing which we see We know
and hear? for example, shall we say that not having learned, ][2d h«u-T*
we do not hear the language of foreigners when they speak but we sec
to us ? or shall we say that we not only hear, but know what ^1^^^^"
they are saying? Or again, if we see letters which we do not coiou«,
understand, shall we say that we do not see them ? or shall ^? ^^^ _,
, ■' only sounds
we averjliat, seeing them, we must know them ? of different
Theaet. We shall say, Socrates, that we know what we p*^*^**- X®^
actually see and hear of them — that is to say, we see and bie to know
know the figure and colour of the letters, and we hear and ™f »^ ^*>^
know the elevation or depression of the sound of them ; but
we do not perceive by sight and hearing, or know, that which
grammarians and interpreters teach about them.
Soc, Capital, Theaetetus ; and about this there shall be no
dispute, because I want you to grow ; but there is another
difficulty coming, which you will also have to repulse.
Theaet. What is it?
Soc. Some one will say. Can a man who has ever known Again, ac-
anything, and still has and preserves a memory of that which ^^jh«)ry
he knows, not know that which he remembers at the time a man can-
when he remembers ? I have, I fear, a tedious way of put- JJ^^^^|^^°^
ting a simple question, which is only, whether a man who has remembers;
learned, and remembers, can fail to know ?
Theaet. Impossible, Socrates; the supposition is mon-
strous.
Soc. Am I talking nonsense, then ? Think : is not seeing
perceiving, and is not sight perception ?
Theaet. True.
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220
A redtutio ad absurdum.
TJuaetttus.
socsatbs,
Thbaktktus.
for, when
remembcr-
ing some-
thing which
he has seen,
he does not
see.and not-
seeing is
not-know-
ing.
And it
would be
ridiculous
to say that
what is re-
membered
is not
known.
Soc. And if our recent definition holds, every man knows
that which he has seen ?
TheaeU Yes.
Soc. And you would admit that there is such a thing as
memory ?
TheaeU Yes.
Soc. And is memory of something or of nothing ?
Theaet, Of something, surely.
Soc. Of things learned and perceived, that is ?
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc, Often a man remembers that which he has seen ?
Theaet True.
Soc. And if he closed his eyes, would he forget?
Theaet. Who, Socrates, would dare to say so ?
Soc. But we must say so, if the previous argument is to
be maintained.
Theaet. What do you mean ? I am not quite sure that I
understand you, though I have a strong suspicion that you
are right.
Soc. As thus : he who sees knows, as we say, that which
he sees; for perception and sight and knowledge are
admitted to be the same.
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc. But he who saw, and has knowledge of that which he
saw, remembers, when he closes his eyes, that which he no
longer sees.
Theaet. True.
Soc. And seeing is knowing, and therefore not-seeing is
not-knowing?
Theaet. Very true.
Soc. Then the inference is, that a man may have attained
the knowledge of something, which he may remember and
yet not know, because he does not see ; and this has been
affirmed by us to be a monstrous supposition.
Theaet. Most true.
Soc. Thus, then, the assertion that knowledge and per-
ception are one, involves a manifest impossibility?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. Then they must be distinguished ?
Theaet. I suppose that they must
164
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Vet Protagoras may still have an answer. 221
Sac, Once more we shall have to begin, and ask ' What is Tketutetus.
knowledge Y and yet, Theaetetus, what are we going to do ? sociatm,
Theaet. About what? Theai^ttu.,
^ T •! t r • ThEODOKUS.
Sac. Like a good-for-nothing cock, without having won cocrateai
the victory, we walk away from the argument and crow. dissatisfied
Theaet How do you mean ? ^^ ^«
Sac. After the manner of disputers', we were satisfied with Sgu^^t.
mere verbal consistency, and were well pleased if in this way
we could gain an advantage. Although professing not to be
mere Tpristirftp" but philosophers, I suspect that we have
unconsciously fallen into the error of that ingenious class of
persons.
Theaet. I do not as yet understand you.
Sac. Then I will try to explain myself: just now we asked
the question, whether a man who had learned and remem«
bered could fail to know, and we showed that a person who
had seen might remember when he had his eyes shut and
could not see, and then he would at the same time remem-
ber and not know. But this was an impossibility. And so
the Protagorean fable came to nought, and yours also, who
maintained that knowledge is the same as perception.
Theaet. True,
Sac. And yet, my friend, I rather suspect that the result if Prota-
would have been different if Protagoras, who was the father ^^^^^
of the first of the two brats, had been alive ; he would have he would
had a great deal to say on their behalf. But he is dead, and ^?} ^\^
allowed us
we insult over his orphan child ; and even the guardians to throw
whom he left, and of whom our fiiend Theodorus is one, ^^<^^^ <>«
are unwilling to give any help, and therefore I suppose that
I must take up his cause myself, and see justice done?
165 Theod. Not I, Socrates, but rather Callias, the son of AsTheo-
Hipponicus, is guardian of his orphans. I was too soon f^^J^^**^
diverted from the abstractions of dialectic to geometry, declines to
Nevertheless, I shall be grateful to you if you assist him. SienTso-
Soc. Very good, Theodorus; you shall see how I will crates takes
come to the rescue. If a person does not attend to the jp^«rde.
- , 11. fence.
meaning of terms as they are commonly used in argu-
ment, he may be involved even in greater paradoxes
* Lys. 216 A ; Phaedo 90 B, loi E ; Rep. V, 453 E ff.
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222 A new difficulty .
Theaetetus, than these. Shall I explain this matter to you or to
SocEATEs, Theaetetus ?
Th^^^. Theod. To both of us, and let the younger answer ; he
will incur less disgrace if he is discomfited.
Another -v Soc. Then now let me ask the awful question, which is
difficulty :-\ this :— Can a man know and also not know that which he
A man camJ
know and ] knoWS ?
not know ( Theod. How shall we answer, Theaetetus ?
the same _, _ _ » , < i
thing at the Theoet. He cannot, I should say.
same time, 5^^^ He can, if you maintain that seeing is knowing,
knowing.*^ When you are imprisoned in a well, as the saying is, and
the self-assured adversary closes one of your eyes with his
hand, and asks whether you can see his cloak with the eye
which he has closed, how will you answer the iiievitable_^
man?
Theaet, I should answer, * Not with that eye but with the
other.'
Spc. Then you see and do not see the same thing at the
same time.
Theaet Yes, in a certain sense.
Soc. None of that, he will reply ; I do not ask or bid
you answer in what sense you know, but only whether
you know that which you do not know. You have been
proved to see that which you do not see; and you have
already admitted that seeing is knowing, and that not-
seeing is not-knowing : I leave you to draw the inference.
Theaet. Yes; the inference is the contradictory of my
assertion.
But the case Soc. Yes, my marvel, and there might have been yet
^n made worse things in store for you, if an opponent had gone on
still more to ask whether you can have a sharp and also a dull
bysmp^irtng knowledge, and whether you can know near, but not at
to know- a distance, or know the same thing with more or less in-
mx)^rto"* tensity, and so on without end. Such questions might have
sense. been put to you by a light-armed mercenary, who argued
for pay. He would have lain in wait for you, and when you
r took up the position, that sense is knowledge, he would
< have made an assault upon hearing, smelling, and the other
^ senses; — he would have shown you no mercy; and while
you were lost in envy and admiration of his wisdom, he
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A defence of Protagoras front the mouth of Socrates. 223
would have got you into his net, out of which you would Theaetetus.
not have escaped until you had come to an understanding sociut«s,
about the sum to be paid for your release. Well, you ask, THKAirrrrus.
and how will Protagoras reinforce his position ? Shall
I answer for him?
TheaeU By all means.
Soc. He will repeat all those things which we have been Protagoras
166 urging on his behalf, and then he will close with us in ^® ^^ __
disdain, and say :— The worthy Socrates asked a little boy, 'if Socrates
whether the same man could remember and not know the ^j^^^sa
same thing, and the boy said No, because he was frightened, admitting
and could not see what was coming, and then Socrates made i"*^ ^^^^
fun of poor me. The truth is, O slatternly Socrates, that i mu^^t
when you ask questions about any assertion of mine, and be held re-
the person asked is found tripping, if he has answered as ^^"^
I should have answered, then I am refuted, but if he answers
something else, then he is refuted and not I. For do you
really suppose that any one would admit the memory which
a man has of an impression which has passed away to be
the same with that which he experienced at the time?
Assuredly not. Or would he hesitate to acknowledge that
the same man may know and not know the same thing?
Or, if he is afraid of making this admission, would he ever
grant that one who has become unlike is the same as before
he became unlike ? Or would he admit that a man is one at
all, and not rather many and infinite as the changes which
take place in him ? I speak by the card in order to avoid
entanglements of words. But, O my good sir, he will say, *Whati
come to the argument in a more generous spirit ; and either JJ^"^" ^f '
show, if you can, that our sensations are not relative and tionsare
individual, or, if you admit them to be so, prove that this l^J^^*.^^!^
does not involve the consequence that the appearance thatconse^
becomes, or, if you will have the word, is, to the individual q^en^iy
what ap-
only. As to your talk about pigs and baboons, you are pears is.
yourself behaving like a pig, and you teach your hearers
to make sport of my writings in the same ignorant manner ;
but this is not to your credit. For I declare that the truth
is as I have written, and that each of us is a measure of
existence and of non-existence. Yet one man may be
a thousand times better than another in proportion as
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224
The defence of Protagoras continues.
ThtaeUius.
SOCKATBS.
* A wise
man is not
he who has
certain im-
pressions,
but he who
can make
what ap-
pears evil
appear
good.
•This is
what the
Sophists
attempt
to do.
different things are and appear to him. And I am far from
saying that wisdom and the wise man have no existence;
but I say that the wise man is he who makes the evils
which appear and are to a man, into goods which are and
appear to him. And I would beg you not to press my words
in the letter, but to take the meaning of them as I will
explain them. Remember what has been already said, —
that to the sick man his food appears to be and is bitter, and
to the man in health the opposite of bitter. Now I cannot
conceive that one of these men can be or ought to be made
wiser than the other: nor can you assert that the sick man 167
because he has one impression is foolish, and the healthy
man because he has another is wise; but the one state
requires to be changed into the other, the worse into the
better. As in education, a change of state has to be eflfected,
and the sophist accomplishes by words the change which
the physician works by the aid of drugs. Not that any one
ever made another think truly, who previously thought
falsel}'. For no one can think what is not, o^ think any«
thing different from that which he feels ; and this is always
true. But as the inferior habit of mind has thoughts of
a kindred nature, so I conceive that a good mind causes men
to have good thoughts ; and these which the inexperienced
call true, I maintain to be only better, and not truer than
others. And, O my dear Socrates, I do not call wise men
tadpoles : far from it ; I say that they are the physicians
of the human body, and the husbandmen of plants — for the
husbandmen also take away the evil and disordered sen-
sations of plants, and infuse into them good and healthy
sensations — aye and true ones*; and the wise and good
rhetoricians make the good instead of the evil to seem just
to states ; for whatever appears to a state to be just and fair,
so long as it is regarded as such, is just and fair to it ; but
the teacher of wisdom causes the good to take the place
of the evil, both in appearance and in reality. And in like
manner the Sophist who is able to train his pupils in this
spirit is a wise man, and deserves to be well paid by them.
And so one man is wiser than another ; and no one thinks
* Reading AXiytffiy, but ? Cp. supra 167 A : ravro %\ W &Aiy^.
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Socrates in the person of Protagoras attacks hwiself. 225
falsely, and you, whether you vvrill or not, must endure to be Thioeutus,
a measure. On these foundations the argument stands firm, soaurBs,
which you, Socrates, may, if you please, overthrow by an Theodorus.
opposite argument, or if you like you may put questions to
me — a method to which no intelligent person will object, quite
the reverse. But I must beg you to put fair questions : for • Let So-
there is great inconsistency in saying that you have a zeal ^"^^^
for virtue, and then always behaving unfairly in ai^g^ment. fairly, like
The unfairness of which I complain is that you do not ^f^^"
distinguish between mere disputation and dialectic: the like a mere
disputer may trip up his opponent as often as he likes, d^P^^er-
and make fun ; but the dialectician will be in earnest, and
only correct his adversary when necessary, telling him the
errors into which he has fallen through his own fault, or that
of the company which he has previously kept. If you do so,
168 your adversary will lay the blame of his own confiision and
perplexity on himself, and not on you. He will follow and
love you, and will hate himself, and escape from himself into
philosophy, jn order that he may become different from what
he was. But the other mode of arguing, which is practised
by the many, will have just the opposite effect upon him ;
and as he grows older, instead of turning philosopher, he
will come to hate philosophy. I would recommend you, * He should
therefore, as I said before, not to encourage yourself in this J^^^t
polemical and controversial temper, but to find out, in a when he
fHendly and congenial spirit, what we really mean when we ^^* |^^
say that all things are in motion, and that to every individual understand
and state what appears, is. In this manner you will consider ^" ^"^'
whether knowledge and sensation are the same or diflferent,
but you will not argue, as you were just now doing, from the
customary use of names and words, which the vulgar pervert
in all sorts of ways, causing infinite perplexity to one another.
Such, Theodorus, is the very slight help which I am able to
oflFer to your old friend*; had he been living, he would have
helped himself in a far more gloriose style. ^^^
Theod. You are jesting, Socrates ; indeed, your defence of
him has been most valorous.
Sac. Thank you, friend; and I hope that you observed
^ Reading wpwripxwa.
VOL. IV. Q
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226
Theodorus is forced to take the field.
Theaetelus.
Socrates,
Theodorus.
Socrates in-
sists that
out of re-
spect for his
old friend.
Theodorus
must reply
instead of
Thetttetus.
Theodorus
compares
Socrates to
Scirrhon
and
Antaeus.
Socrates
replies that
he often
Protagoras bidding us be serious, as the text, ' Man is the
measure of all things,' was a solemn one; and he reproached
us with making a boy the medium of discourse, and said that
the boy's timidity was made to tell against his argument ; he
also declared that we made a joke of him.
Theod, How could I fail to observe all that, Socrates?
Sac. Well, and shall we do as he says ?
Theod, By all means.
Soc, But if his wishes are to be regarded, you and I must
take up the argument, and in all seriousness*, and ask and
answer one another, for you see that the rest of us are
nothing but boys. In no other way can we escape the
imputation, that in our fresh analysis of his thesis we are
making fun with boys.
Theod, Well, but is not Theaetetus better able to follow a
philosophical enquiry than a great many men who have long
beards ?
Soc, Yes, Theodorus, but not better than you ; and there-
fore please not to imagine that I am to defend by every
means in my power your departed friend ; and that you are
to defend nothing and nobody. At any rate, my good man, 169
do not sheer off until we know whether you are a true
measure of diagrams, or whether all men are equally
measures and sufficient for themselves in astronomy and
geometry, and the other branches of knowledge in which you
are supposed to excel them.
Theod, He who is sitting by you, Socrates, will not easily
avoid being drawn into an argument ; and when I said just
now that you would excuse me, and not, like the Lacedae-
monians, compel me to strip and fight, I was talking non-
sense— I should rather compare you to Scirrhon, who threw
travellers from the rocks; for the Lacedaemonian rule is
' strip or depart,' but you seem to go about your work more
after the fashion of Antaeus : you will not allow any one who
approaches you to depart until you have stripped him, and
he has been compelled to try a fall with you in argument.
Soc. There, Theodorus, you have hit off precisely the nature
of my complaint ; but I am even more pugnacious than the
Reading tdfrov rw xAyttv.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The persistency of Socrates. 227
giants of old, for I have met with no end of heroes ; many a Tkeaetetus,
Heracles, many a Theseus, mighty in words, has broken my Sooutm,
head ; nevertheless I am always at this rough exercise, which thiodoru*.
inspires me like a passion. Please, then, to try a fall with ^^^^
me, whereby you will do yourself good as well as me. head for
Theod. I consent ; lead me whither you will, for I know ^^ P^ins,
that you are like destiny; no man can escape from any argu- he can
ment which you may weave for him. But I am not disposed never have
to go further than you suggest. ^hting.''^
Soc, Once will be enough ; and now take particular care ^^ ^^^
that we do not again unwittingly expose ourselves to the be serious,
reproach of talking childishly.
Theod. I will do my best to avoid that error.
Sac. In the first place, let us return to our old objection,
and see whether we were right in blaming and taking offence
at Protagoras on the ground that he assumed all to be equal
and su£5cient in wisdom; although he admitted that there
was a better and worse, and that in respect of this, some who
as he said were the wise excelled others.
Theod. Very true.
Sac. Had Protagoras been living and answered for him-
self, instead of our answering for him, there would have been
no need of our reviewing or reinforcing the argument. But
as he is not here, and some one may accuse us of speaking
without authority on his behalf, had we not better come to a
clearer agreement about his meaning, for a great deal may be
at stake ?
Theod. True.
170 Soc. Then let us obtain, not through any third person, but
from his own statement and in the fewest words possible, the
basis of agreement.
Theod. In what way?
Soc. In this way : — His words are, 'What seems to a man, Protagoras'
is to him.' *^;
Theod. Yes, so he says. appears to
Soc. And are not we, Protagoras, uttering the opinion of ^^^'
man, or rather of all mankind, when we say that every one ^^^ ^^
thinks himself wiser than other men in some things, and their man wui
inferior in others ? In the hour of danger, when they are in ^™]*,|^^
perils of war, or of the sea, or of sickness, do they not look more,
Q2
b
Digitized by VjOOQIC
228
Protagoras reviewed.
Theaetetus,
sockatks,
Thbodorus.
some less
than he ;
and this is
enough to
show that
opinions
clash,—
a fact
denied by
Protagoras,
though very
obvious.
When
opinions
conflict,
up to their commanders as if they were gods, and expect
salvation from them, only because they excel them in know-
ledge ? Is not the world full of men in their several employ-
ments, who are looking for teachers and rulers of themselves
and of the animals ? and there are plenty who think that
they are able to teach and able to rule. Now, in all this is
implied that ignorance and wisdom exist among them, at
least in their own opinion.
Theod, Certainly.
Sac, And wisdom is assumed by them to be true thought,
and ignorance to be false opinion.
- Theod. Exactly.
Sac, How then, Protagoras, would you have us treat the
argument ? Shall we say that the opinions of men are always
true, or sometimes true and sometimes false ? In either case,
the result is the same, and their opinions are not always
true, but sometimes true and sometimes false. For tell me,
Theodorus, do you suppose that you yourself, or any other
follower of Protagoras, would contend that no one deems
another ignorant or mistaken in his opinion ?
Theod. The thing is incredible, Socrates.
Soc. And yet that absurdity is necessarily involved in the
thesis which declares man to be the measure of all things.
Theod. How so ?
Sac. Why, suppose that you determine in your own mind
something to be true, and declare your opinion to me ; let us
assume, as he argues, that this is true to you. Now, if so,
you must either say that the rest of us are not the judges of
this opinion or judgment of yours, or that we judge you
always to have a true opinion ? But are there not thousands
upon thousands who, whenever you form a judgment, take
up arms against you and are of an opposite judgment and
opinion, deeming that you judge falsely ?
Theod, Yes, indeed, Socrates, thousands and tens of thou-
sands, as Homer says, who give me a world of trouble.
Soc. Well, but are we to assert that what you think is true
to you and false to the ten thousand others ?
Theod, No other inference seems to be possible.
Soc, And how about Protagoras himself? If neither he
nor the multitude thought, as indeed they do not think, that
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The truth of Protagoras self-refuted. 229
man is the measure of all things, must it not follow that the Theaetetus,
171 truth of which Protagoras wrote would be true to no one? sockatw,
But if you suppose that he himself thought this, and that the Thbodoius.
multitude does not agree with him, you must begin by allow- numbers
ing that in whatever proportion the many are more than one, decide Tthis
in that proportion his truth is more untrue than true. v^ ^
Theod. That would follow if the truth is supposed to vary ^^oras.
with individual opinion.
Soc. And the best of the joke is, that he acknowledges the In any case
truth of their opinion who believe his own opinion to be false ; f^!^°^"
for he admits that the opinions of all men are true. that their
Theod. Certainly. ^fwho^
Soc. And does he not allow that his own opinion is false, declare bis
if he admits that the opinion of those who think him false is ^^ ^ ^*^'
true?
Theod. Of course.
Soc, Whereas the other side do not admit that they speak
falsely ?
Theod. They do not
Soc. And he, as may be inferred from his writings, agrees
that this opinion is also true.
Theod. Clearly.
Soc. Then all mankind, beginning with Protagoras, will and so de-
contend, or rather, I should say that he will allow, when he truUi^of bis
concedes that his adversary has a true opinion — Protagoras, owndoc-
I say, will himself allow that neither a dog nor any ordinary *™*^
man is thjg measure of anything which he has not learned —
am I not right?
Theod. Yes.
Soc. And the truth of Protagoras being doubted by all,
will be true neither to himself nor to any one else ?
Theod. I think, Socrates, that we are running my old friend
too hard.
Soc. But I do not know that we are going beyond the But are we
truth. Doubtless, as he is older, he may be expected to be ?^21^"
wiser than we are. And if he could only just get his head
out of the world below, he would have overthrown both of us
again and again, me for talking nonsense and you for assent-
ing to me, and have been off and underground in a trice.
But as he is not within call, we must make the best use of
Digitized by VjOOQIC
230
If Protagoras could only come back to earth !
Theoiietus.
Socrates,
Throdorus.
A conces-
sion.
His position
is only true,
if at all, in
reference
to sensible
things ;
and he him-
self admits
that in
politics one
man is
wiser than
another.
A larger
question
appears.
our own faculties, such as they are, and speak out what
appears to us to be true. And one thing which no one will
deny is, that there are great differences in the understandings
of men.
Theod, In that opinion I quite agree.
Sac, And is there not most likely to be firm ground in the
distinction which we were indicating on behalf of Protagoras,
viz. that most things, and all immediate sensations, such as
hot, dry, sweet, are only such as they appear ; if however
difference of "opinion is to be allowed at all, surely we must
allow it in respect of health or disease ? for every woman,
child, or living creature has not such a knowledge of what
conduces to health as to enable them to cure themselves.
Theod. I quite agree.
Sac. Or again, in politics, while affirming that just and 172
unjust, honourable and disgraceful, holy and unholy, are in
reality to each state such as the state thinks and makes
lawful, and that in determining these matters no individual
or state is wiser than another, still the followers of Pro-
tagoras will not deny that in determining what is or is not
expedient for the community one state is wiser and one
counsellor better than another— they will scarcely venture to
maintain, that what a city enacts in the belief that it is
expedient will always be really expedient. But in the other
case, I mean when they speak of justice and injustice, piety
and impiety, they are confident that in nature these have no
existence or essence of their own — the truth is that which is
agreed on at the time of the agreement, and as long as the
agreement lasts ; and this is the philosophy of many who do
not altogether go along with Protagoras. Here arises a new
question, Theodorus, which threatens to be more serious than
the last.
Theod, Well, Socrates, we have plenty of leisure.
Soc, That is true, and your remark recalls to my mind an
observation which I have oflen made, that those who have
passed their days in the pursuit of philosophy are ridiculously
at fault when they have to appear and speak in court. How
natural is this !
Theod. What do you mean ?
Soc. I mean to say, that those who have been trained in
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The lawyer, 231
philosophy and liberal pursuits are as unlike those who from Theaetetus.
their youth upwards have been knocking about in the courts socrates,
and such places, as a freeman is in breeding unlike a slave. Theodobus.
s\ Theod, In what is the difference seen ? An ap-
^ Soc, In the leisure spoken of by you, which a freeman can S^^ion.
always command : he has his talk out in peace, and, like our- in which is
selves, he wanders at will from one subject to another, and ^^'JlJJ^^'
from a second to a third, — if the fancy takes him, he begins opposition
again, as we are doing now, caring not whether his words ^^^^
are many or few ; his only aim is to attain the truth. But ledge, but
the lawyer is always in a hurry ; there is the water of the * Parallel
clepsj:dra driving him on, and not allowing him to,expatist^ between
at will : and there is his adversary standing over him, en- *^* "^y^ **^
forcing his rights ; the indictment, which in their phraseology and phiio-
is termed the affidavit, is recited at the time : and from this sopher.
he must not delate. He is a servant, and is continually dis-
puting about a fellow-servant before his master, who is seated,
and has the cause in his hands ; the trial is never about some
indifferent matter, but always concerns himself; and oflen the
173 race is for his life. The consequence has been, that he has
become keen and shrewd ; he has learned how to flatter his
master in word and indulge him in deed ; but his soul is
small and unrighteous. His condition, which has been that The lawyer
of a slave from his youth upwards, has deprived him of "f ^1,^ ^*
growth and uprightness and independence ; dangers and world, the
fears, which were too much for his truth and honesty, came ■^^jhg^''^*'^
upon him in early years, when the tenderness of youth was freeman,
unequal to them, and he has been driven into crooked ways ;
from the first he has practised deceptjop and retaliation^ and
has become stunted and warped. And so he has passed out
of youth into manhood, having no soundness in him; and is
now, as he thinks, a master in wisdom. Such is the lawyer,
Theodorus. Will you have the companion picture of the
philosopher, who is of our brotherhood ; or shall we return
to the argument? Do not let us abuse the freedom of
digression which we claim.
Theod, Nay, Socrates, not until we have finished what we
are about ; for you truly said that we belong to a brotherhood
which is free, and are not the servants of the argument ; but
the argument is our servant, and must wait our leisure.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
232
The philosopher.
Theaetetus,
SOCKATIS,
Theooorvs.
The sim-
plicity of
the philo-
sopher.
He cannot
see what is
tumbling
out at his
feet.
Who is our judge ? Or where is the spectator having any
right to censure or control us, as he might the poets ?
Soc. Then, as this is your wish, I will describe the leaders ;
for there is no use in talking about the inferior sort. In
the first place, the lords of philosophy have never, from
their youth upwards, known their way to the Agora^ or the_
dicastery, or the council, or any other political assembly; they
neitTTer see' nor hear the laws or decrees, as they are called,
of the state written or recited ; the eagerness of political
societies in the attainment of offices— clubs, and banquets,
and revels, and singing-maidens, — do not enter even into
their dreams. Whether any event has turned out well or ill
in the city, what disgrace may have descended to any one
from his ancestors, male or female, are matters of which the
philosopher no more knows than he can tell, as they say, how
many pints are contained in the ocean. Neither is he con-
scious of his ignorance. For he does not hold aloof in order
that he may gain a reputation ; but the truth is, that the outer
form of him only is in the city : his mind, disdaining the little-
nesses and nothingnesses of human things, is 'flying all
abroad* as Pindar says, measuring earth and heaven and
the things .which ace «nder and on The "earth and above the
heaven, interrogating the whole nature of each and all in
their entirety, but not condescending to anjrthing which is 174
within reach.
Theod, What do you mean, Socrates ?
Soc, I will illustrate my meaning, Theodorus, by the jest
which the clever witty Thracian handmaid is said to have
made about Thales, when he fell into a well as he was looking
up at the stars. She said, that he was so eager to know what
was going on in heaven, that he could not see what was
before his feet. This is a jest which is equally applicable to
all philosophers. For the philosopher is wholly unacquainted
with his next-door neighbour; he is ignorant, not only of
what he is doing; but he hardly knows whether he is a man
or an animal ; he is searching into the essence of man, and
busy in enquiring what belongs to such a nature to do or
suffer different from any other ; — I think that you understand
me, Theodorus ?
Theod, I do, and what you say is true.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The philosopher. 233
Soc, And thus, my friend, on every occasion, private as ThtaeUim,
well as public, as I said at first, when he appears in a law- sooutks,
court, or in any place in which he has to speak of things thtodokus.
which are at his feet and before his eyes, he is the jest, not He is the
onlyofThracian handmaids but of the general herd, tumbling stodcof'
into wells and every sort of disaster through his inexperience, mankind
His awkwardness is fearful, and gives the impression of im- h^^^
becility. When he is^revilgd, he has nothing personal to in public
lay m answer to the civilities of his adversaries, for he knows
no scandals of any one, and they do not interest him ; and
therefore he is laughed at for his sheepishness ; and when
others are being praised and glorified, in the simplicity of his
heart he cannot help going into fits of laughter, so that he
seems to be a downright idiot. When he hears a t)rrant or His irony :
king eulogized, he fancies that he is listening to the praises N* '^^^^^
of some keeper of cattle — a swineherd, or shepherd, or tyrants,
perhaps a cowherd, who is congratulated on the quantity of
milk which he squeezes from them ; and he remarks that the
creature whom they tend, and out of whom they squeeze the
wealth, is of a less tractable and more insidious nature.
Then, again, he observes that the great man is of necessity
as ill-mannered and uneducated as any shepherd — for he
has no leisure, and he is surrounded by a wall, which is his
mountain-pen. Hearing of enormous landed proprietors often of landed
thousand acres and more, our philosopher deems this to be a ^^^'^
trifle, because he has been accustomed to think of the whole pedigrees,
earth ; and when they sing the praises of family, and say that
some one is a gentleman because he can show seven genera-
tions of wealthy ancestors, he thinks that their sentiments
175 only betray a dull and narrow vision in those who utter them,
and who are not educated enough to look at the whole, nor
to consider that every man has had thousands and ten
thousands of progenitors, and among them have been rich
and poor, kings and slaves, Hellenes and barbarians, innu-
merable. And when people pride themselves on having a
pedigree of twenty-five ancestors, which goes back to
Heracles, the son of Amphitryon, he cannot understand
their poverty of ideas. Why are they unable to calculate
that Amphitryon had a twenty-fifth ancestor, who might have
been anybody, and was such as fortune made him, and he
Digitized by VjOOQIC
234
The philosopher and lawyer compared.
Thcaetetus.
Socrates,
Theodorus.
To the
world he is
a fool.
He has his
revenge
upon the
lawyer.
Evil a
necessary
part of
had a fiftieth, and so on ? He amuses himself with the
notion that they cannot count, and thinks that a little arith-
metic would have got rid of their senseless vanity. Now, in
all these cases our philosopher is derided by the vulgar,
partly because he is thought to despise them, and also
because he is ignorant of what is before him, and always
at a loss.
Theod, That is very true, Socrates.
Soc. But, O my friend, when he draws the other into
upper air, and gets him out of his pleas and rejoinders into
the contemplation of justice and injustice in their own nature
and in their difference from one another and from all other
things; or from the commonplaces about the happiness of
a king or of a rich man to the consideration of government,
and of human happiness and misery in general — ^what they
are, and how a man is to attain the one and avoid the other
—when that narrow, keen, little legal mind is called to
account about all this, he gives the philosopher his revenge ;
for dizzied by the height at which he is hanging, whence he
looks down into space, which is a strange experience to him,
he being dismayed, and lost, and stammering broken words,
is laughed at, not by Thracian handmaidens or any other
uneducated persons, for they have no eve for the situation,
but by every man who has not been brought up a slave.
Such are the two characters, Theodorus : the one of the
freeman, who has been trained in liberty and leisure, whom
you call the philosopher, — him we cannot blame because he
appears simple and of no account when he has to perform
some menial task, such as packing up bed-clothes, or flavour-
ing a sauce or fawning speech ; the other character is that of
the man who is able to do all this kind of service smartly
and neatly, but knows not how to wear his cloak like a 176
gentleman ; still less with the music of discourse can he
hymn the true life aright which is lived by immortals or men
blessed of heaven.
Theod. If you could only persuade everybody, Socrates,
as you do me, of the truth of your words, there would be
more peace and fewer evils among men.
Soc. Evils, Theodorus, can never pass away; for there
must always remain something which is antagonistic to good.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Another digression* 235
Having no place among the gods in heaven, of necessity Theaetetus.
they hover around the mortal nature, and this earthly sooutes,
sphere. Wherefore we ought to fly away from earth to theodoios.
heaven as quickly as we can ; and to fly away is to become ^«man
like God, as far as this is possible; and to become like him, from which
is to become holy, just, and wise. But, O my friend, you «««" can
cannot easily convincF'mahTcmd^tliat they should pursue away when
virtue or avoid vice, not merely in order that a man may they be-
seem to be good, which is the reason given by the world, ^* * *
and in my judgment is only a repetition of an old wives'
fable. Whereas, the truth is that God is never in any way
unrighteous — he is perfect righteousness ; and he of us who
is the most righteous is most like him. Herein is seen the
true cleverness of a man, and also his nothingness and want
of manhood. For to know this is true wisdom and virtue,
and ignorance of this is manifest folly and vice. All other
kinds of wisdom or cleverness, which seem only, such as the
wisdom of politicians, or the wisdom of the arts, are coarse
and vulgar. The unrighteous man, or the sayer and doer of
unholy things, had far better not be encouraged in the
illusion that his roguery is clever ; for men glory in their
shame — they fancy that they hear others saying of them,
' These are not mere good-for-nothing persons, mere burdens
of the earth, but such as men should be who mean to dwell
safely in a state.' Let us tell them that they ire all the more
truly what they do not think they are because they do not
know it ; for they do not know the penalty of injustice, which
above all things they ought to know — not stripes and death,
as they suppose, which evil-doers often escape, but a penalty
which cannot be escaped.
Theod. What is that?
Sac, There are two patterns eternally set before them ; the
one blessed and divine, the other godless and wretched : but
they do not see them, or perceive that in their utter folly and
infatuation they are growing like the one and unlike the
177 other, by reason of their evil deeds ; and the penalty is, that
they lead a life answering to the pattern which they are
growing like. And if we tell them, that unless they depart The wicked
from their cunning, the place of innocence will not receive j^"?"^^
them after death ; and that here on earth, they will live ever the truth.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
236 We must return and take up the broken thread.
TheaeUius.
SOCKATBS,
Thbodorus.
A strange
thing :
when they
consent to
reason
about
philosophy,
they are as
helpless as
children.
End of
digression.
The
partisans
of the flux
were saying
that the
ordinances
of a state
were always
just, but
they did not
x'enture to
affirm that
they were
always
good.
in the likeness of their own evil selves, and with evil friends
— when they hear this they in their superior cunning will
seem to be listening to the talk of idiots.
Theod, Very true, Socrates.
Soc. Too true, my friend, as I well know; there is, how-
ever, one peculiarity in their case: when they begin to reason
in private about their dislike of philosophy, if they have the
courage to hear the argument out, and do not run away, they
grow at last strangely discontented with themselves; their
rhetoric fades away, and they become helpless as children.
These however are digressions from which we must now
desist, or they will overflow, and drown the original argu-
ment ; to which, if you please, we will now return.
Theod, For my part, Socrates, I would rather have the
digressions, for at my age I find them easier to follow ; but
if you wish, let us go back to the argument.
Soc, Had we not reached the point at which the partisans
of the perpetual flux, who say that things are as they seem
to each one, were confidently maintaining that the ordinances
which the state commanded and thought just, were just to
the state which imposed them, while they were in force ; this
was especially asserted of justice ; but as to the good, no one
had any longer the hardihood to contend of any ordinances
which the state thought and enacted to be good that these,
while they were in force, were really good ; — he who said so
would be playing with the name 'good,' and would not touch
the real question— it would be a mockery, would it not?
Theod, Certainly it would.
Soc, He ought not to speak of the name, but of the thing
which is contemplated under the name.
Theod. Right.
Soc, Whatever be the term used, the good or expedient is
the aim of legislation, and as far as she has an opinion, the
state imposes all laws with a view to the greatest expediency ;
can legislation have any other aim ?
Theod, Certainly not
Soc, But is the aim attained always? do not mistakes
often happen ?
Theod, Yes, I think that there are mistakes.
Soc, The possibility of error will be more distinctly recog-
178
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Judgment of the future. 237
nised, if we put the question in reference to the whole class Thtaeutus,
under which the good or expedient falls. That whole class soceatbs,
has to do with the future, and laws are passed under the idea thbodoeus.
that they will be useful in after-time ; which, in other words, i» «^^«7
is the future. a judge of
Theod. Very true. the expe-
Soc. Suppose now, that we ask Protagoras, or one of his loTpe^'
disciples, a question : — O, Protagoras, we will say to him, generally,
Man is, as you declare, the measure of all things — white, f^^^?
heavy, light : of all such things he is the judge ; for he has
the criterion of them in himself, and when he thinks that
things are such as he experiences them to be, he thinks what
is and is true to himself. Is it not so ?
Theod. Yes.
Soc. And do you extend your doctrine, Protagoras (as we
shall further say), to the future as well as to the present ; and
has he the criterion not only of what in his opinion is but of
what will be, and do things always happen to him as he
expected ? For example, take the case of heat : — When an Certainly
ordinary man thinks that he is going to have a fever, and ^"f
that this kind of heat is coming on, and another person, who medidne ;
is a physician, thinks the contrary, whose opinion is likely to
prove right? Or are they both right?— he will have a heat
and fever in his own judgment, and not have a fever in the
physician's judgment ?
Theod, How ludicrous I
Soc. And the vinegrower, if I am not mistaken, is a better nor of vine-
judge of the sweetness or dryness of the vintage which is not growing ;
yet gathered than the harp-player ?
Theod, Certainly.
Soc. And in musical composition the musician will know
better than the training master what the training master
himself will hereafter think harmonious or the reverse ?
Theod, Of course.
Soc. And the cook will be a better judge than the guest, nor of
who is not a cook, of the pleasure to be derived from the ^^^^^^ •
dinner which is in preparation ; for of present or past
pleasure we are not as yet arguing; but can we say that
every one will be to himself the best judge of the pleasure
which will seem to be and will be to him in the future ? — nay.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
238
Protagoras 'run down!
Theactetus,
sockatbs,
Theodorus.
nor of
rhetoric,
legislation,
&c.
Protagoras
himself was
wiser than
the ordinary
man about
the future,
and was
well paid
for it.
The refuta-
tion is
complete.
would not you, Protagoras, better guess which arguments in a
court would convince any one of us than the ordinary man ?
Theod. Certainly, Socrates, he used to profess in the
strongest manner that he was the superior of all men in
this respect.
Soc. To be sure, friend : who would have paid a large sum 179
for the privilege of talking to him, if he had really* persuaded
his visitors that neither a prophet nor any other man was
better able to judge what will be and seem to be in the future •
than every one could for himself?
Theod. Who indeed ?
Soc, And legislation and expediency are all concerned
with the future ; and every one will admit that states, in
passing laws, must often fail of their highest interests ?
Theod, Quite true.
Soc, Then we may fairly argue against your master, that
he must admit one man to be wiser than another, and that
the wiser is a measure : but I, who know nothing, am not at
all obliged to accept the honour which the advocate of Prota-
goras was just now forcing upon me, whether I would or not,
of being a measure of anything.
Theod, That is the best refutation of him, Socrates; although
he is also caught when he ascribes truth to the opinions of
others, who give the lie direct to his own opinion.
Soc, There are many ways, Theodorus, in which the
doctrine that every opinion of every man is true may be
refuted ; but there is more difficulty in proving that states
of feeling, which are present to a man, and out of which arise
sensations and opinions in accordance with them, are also
untrue. And very likely I have been talking nonsense about
them ; for they may be unassailable, and those who say that
there is clear evidence of them, aild that they are matters of
knowledge, may probably be right ; in which case our friend
Theaetetus was not so far from the mark when he identified
perception and knowledge. And therefore let us draw
nearer, as the advocate of Protagoras desires, and give the
truth of the universal flux a ring : is the theory sound or
not ? at any rate, no small war is raging about it, and there
are combatants not a few.
* Reading d^.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The text — 'All is motion! 239
Theod. No small war, indeed, for in Ionia the sect makes Thsaeutm,
rapid strides ; the disciples of Heracleitus are most energetic socrat««,
upholders of the doctrine. Theodoius.
Soc, Then we are the more bound, my dear Theodorus, to '^f'*
examine the question from the foundation as it is set forth by Heracidtus
themselves. wage a
Theod, Certainly we are. About these speculations of cl^^Versy
Heracleitus, which, as you say, are as old as Homer, or even about the
older still, the Ephesians themselves, who profess to know SJJJ^^^^i
them, are downright mad, and you cannot talk with them on we must
the subject. For, in accordance with their text-books, they ^^^ ^'^
^ , ^ 'J aigument
are always in motion ; but as for dwelling upon an argument out of
180 or a question, and quietly asking and answering in turn, they ^hc hands
can no more do so than they can fly; or rather, the de- lunatics and
termination of these fellows not to have a particle of rest ^anaUcs.
in them is more than the utmost powers of negation can tesTur^
express. If you ask any of them a question, he will^produce,
as from a quiver, sayings brief and dark, and shoot them at
you ; and if you enquire the reason of what he has said, you
will be hit by some other new-fangled word, and will make
no way with any of them, nor they with one another ; their
great care is, not to allow of any settled principle either in
their arguments or in their minds, conceiving, as I imagine,
that any such principle would be stationary; for they are at
war with the stationary, and do what they can to drive it out
everywhere.
Sac. I suppose, Theodorus, that you have only seen them
when they were fighting, and have never stayed with them in
time of peace, for they are no friends of yours ; and their
peace doctrines are only communicated by them at leisure, as
I imagine, to those disciples of theirs whom they want to
make like themselves.
Theod. Disciples I my good sir, they have none ; men of
their sort are not one another's disciples, but they grow up at
their own sweet will, and get their inspiration anywhere, each
of them saying of his neighbour that he knows nothing. From
these men, then, as I was going to remark, you will never get
a reason, whether with their will or without their will ; we must
take the question out of their hands, and make the analysis
ourselves, as if we were doing a geometrical problem.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
240
The * river-gods * and the ^patrons of Being'
Theaetetus,
sociutbs,
Theodoius.
The
ancients
held similar
views, which
they veiled
in poetical
figures.
Then came
the opposite
doctrine of
Parmenides
and Me-
lissus.
Which side
shall we
take-
motion or
rest?
Sac. Quite right too; but as touching the aforesaid
problem, have we not heard from the ancients, who con-
cealed their wisdom from the many in poetical figures, that
pceanus and Tethys, the origin of all things, are streams,
ari3"11Ta"t nothingls-at rest ? And now the moderns, in their
superior wisdom, have declared the same openly, that the
cobbler too may hear and learn of them, and no longer
foolishly imagine that some things are at rest and others in
motion— having learned that all is motion, he will duly
honour his teachers. I had almost forgotten the opposite
doctrine, Theodorus,
* Alone Being remains unmoved, which is the name for the all.'
This is the language of Parmenides, Melissus, and their
followers, who stoutly maintain that all being is one and self-
contained, and has no place in which to move. What shall
we do, friend, with all these people ; for, advancing step by
step, we have imperceptibly got between the combatants,
and, unless we can protect our retreat, we shall pay the i8i
penalty of our rashness — like the players in the palaestra
who are caught upon the line, and are dragged different
ways by the two parties. Therefore I think that we had
better begin by considering those whom we first accosted,
'the river-gods,' and, if we find any truth in them, we will
help them to pull us over, and try to get away from the
others. But if the partisans of * the whole ' appear to speak
more truly, we will fly off from the party which would move
the immovable, to them. And if we find that neither of them
have an3rthing reasonable to say, we shall be in a ridiculous
position, having so great a conceit of our own poor opinion
and rejecting that of ancient and famous men. O Theodorus,
do you think that there is any use in proceeding when the
danger is so great ?
Theod, Nay, Socrates, not to examine thoroughly what the
two parties have to say would be quite intolerable.
Sac, Then examine we must, since you, who were so
reluctant to begin, are so eager to proceed. The nature
of motion appears to be the question with which we begin.
What do they mean when they say that all things are in
motion ? Is there only one kind of motion, or, as I rather
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The doctrine of motion. 241
incline to think, two ? I should like to have your opinion Theaetetus.
upon this point in addition to my own, that I may err, if sooutbs,
I must err, in your company ; tell me, then, when a thing Theodorus.
changes from one place to another, or goes round in the
same place, is not that what is called motion ?
Theod, Yes.
Soc, Here then we have one kind of motion. But when a The
thing, remaining on the same spot, grows old, or becomes ^J^^
black from being white, or hard from being soft, or undergoes must of
any other change, may not this be properly called motion of i»«»ssity
another kind ? that au
Theod. I think so. ^^^^^ par-
r-k r% \ \ • « r^f » * % take of all
Soc. Say rather that it must be so. Of motion then there jjinds of
are these two kinds, ' change,' and * motion in place \' motion.
Theod. You are right.
Soc. And now, having made this distinction, let us address
ourselves to those who say that all is motion, and ask them
whether all things according to them have the two kinds of
motion, and are changed as well as move in place, or is one
thing moved in both ways, and another in one only ?
Theod. Indeed, I do not know what to answer; but I
think they would say that all things are moved in both
ways.
Soc. Yes, comrade ; for, if not, they would have to say
that the same things are in motion and at rest, and there
would be no more truth in saying that all things are in
motion, than that all things are at rest.
Theod. To be sure.
Soc. And if they are to be in motion, and nothing is to be
182 devoid of motion, all things must always have every sort of
motion ?
Theod. Most true.
Soc. Consider a further point: did we not understand Recapituia-
them to explain the generation of heat, whiteness, or any* Ha^tean
thing else, in some such manner as the following: — ^were theory of
they not saying that each of them is moving between the ^'^^j.
agent and the patient, together with a perception, and that ties,
the patient ceases to be a perceiving power and becomes a
' Reading ^liy : Lib. irtpi^pdv.
VOL. IV. R
Digitized by VjOOQIC
242
Theaeieius,
socbates,
Thkodorus.
Since each
quality not
only moves
in place,
but changes
at the same
lime, one
name can-
not be more
appropriate
to it than
another.
So too with
sensations:
seeing
might just
as well be
called not-
The ftux is only evanescence.
percipient, and the agent a quale instead of a quality? I
suspect that quality may appear a strange and uncouth term
to you, and that you do not understand the abstract expres-
sion. Then I will take concrete instances : I mean to say
that the producing power or agent becomes neither heat nor
whiteness, but hot and white, and the like of other things.
For I must repeat what I said before, that neither the agent
nor patient have any absolute existence, but when they come
together and generate sensations and their objects, the one
becomes a thing of a certain quality, and the other a per-
cipient. You remember ?
Theod. Of course.
Soc. We may leave the details of their theory unexamined,
but we must not forget to ask them the only question with
which we are concerned : Are all things in motion and flux ?
Theod, Yes, they will reply.
Soc, And they are moved in both those ways which we
distinguished ; that is to say, they move in place and are also
changed ?
Theod, Of course, if the motion is to be perfect
Soc. If they only moved in place and were not changed,
we should be able to say what is the nature of the things
which are in motion and flux ?
Theod, Exactly.
Soc. But now, since not even white continues to flow
white, and whiteness itself is a flux or change which is
passing into another colour, and is never to be caught
standing still, can the name of any colour be rightly used
at all?
Theod. How is that possible, Socrates, either in the case
of this or of any other quality — if while we are using the
word the object is escaping in the flux ?
Soc. And what would you say of perceptions, such as sight
and hearing, or any other kind of perception? Is there any
stopping in the act of seeing and hearing ?
Theod. Certainly not, if all things are in motion.
Soc. Then we must not speak of seeing any more than
of not-seeing, nor of any other perception more than of
any non-perception, if all things partake of every kind of
motion ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Enough of Protagoras. 243
Theod. Certainly not. Thsaeutus,
Soc, Yet perception is knowledge : so at least Theaetetus sooutss,
and I were saying. THBoooKua,
TUBACTSTUS.
Theoa. Very true.
Soc. Then when we were asked what is knowledge, we no to come to'
more answered what is knowledge than what is not know- ^^ dcfini-
le^ge^ ledge is no
Theod. I suppose not. more per-
183 Soc. Here, then, is a fine result : we corrected our first J^non.
answer in our eagerness to prove that nothing is at rest, perception.
But if nothing is at rest, every answer upon whatever subject
is equally right : you may say that a thing is or is not thus ;
or, if you prefer, 'becomes* thus; and if we say 'becomes,'
we shall not then hamper them with words expressive of
rest.
Theod, Quite true.
Soc, Yes, Theodorus, except in sa3dng 'thus' and 'not
thus.' But you ought not to use the word 'thus,' for
there is no motion in 'thus* or in 'not thus.' The main-
tainers of the doctrine have as yet no words in which to
express themselves, and must get a new language. I know
of no word that will suit them, except perhaps 'no how/
which is perfectly indefinite.
Theod. Yes, that is a manner of speaking in which they
will be quite at home.
Soc. And so, Theodorus, we have got rid of your friend The theory
without assenting to his doctrine, that every man is the js'^f^^^Jso
Icir cl3 W IS
measure of all things — a wise man only is a measure; based on a
neither can we allow that knowledge is perception, certainly P^P*^'^
not on the hypothesis of a perpetual flux, unless perchance
our friend Theaetetus is able to convince us that it is.
Theod. Very good, Socrates ; and now that the argument
about the doctrine of Protagoras has been completed, I am
absolved from answering ; for this was the agreement.
Theaet. Not, Theodorus, until you and Socrates have dis- Theaetetus
cussed the doctrine of those who say that all things are at "^^^ ^
rest, as you were proposing. cussion of
Theod. You, Theaetetus, who are a young rogue, must not ^« opposite
instigate your elders to a breach of faith, but should prepare rest,
to answer Socrates in the remainder of the argument.
R 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
244 'I^f^ great Pannenides.
Theaeieim. Theaet. Yes, if he wishes ; but I would rather have heard
SootATBa, about the doctrine of rest.
th^^s. Theod, Invite Socrates to an argument— invite horsemen
to the open plain ; do but ask him, and he will answer.
Soc. Nevertheless, Theodorus, I am afraid that I shall not
be able to comply with the request of Theaetetus.
Theod. Not comply I for what reason ?
Socrates is Soc. My reason is that I have a kind of reverence : not so
t 'A nt
terteg oif°" "^^ch for Melissus and the others, who say that ' All is one
theques- and at rest,' as for the great leader himself, Parmenides,
hM so great venerable and awful, as in Homeric language he may be
an awe of called ; — him I should be ashamed to approach in a spirit
^^"^'j^ unworthy of him. I met him when he was an old man, and
has' not yet I was a mere youth, and he appeared to me to have a
^delivered * glonous depth of mind. And I am afraid that we may not 184
of his con- Understand his words, and maybe still further from under-
ceptionof standing his meaning; above all I fear that the nature of
knowledge, which is the main subject of our discussion, may
be thrust out of sight by the unbidden guests who will come
pouring in upon our feast of discourse, if we let them in —
besides, the question which is now stirring is of immense
extent, and will be treated unfairly if only considered by the
way ; or if treated adequately and at length, will put into the
shade the other question of knowledge. Neither the one
nor the other can be allowed ; but I must try by my art of
midwifery to deliver Theaetetus of his conceptions about
knowledge.
Theaet Very well ; do so if you will.
Soc, Then now, Theaetetus, take another view of the sub-
ject : you answered that knowledge is perception ?
Theaet. I did.
Another Soc. And if any one were to ask you : With what does a
^intof ^^^ ggg black and white colours? and with what does he
hear high and low sounds ? — ^you would say, if I am not mis-
taken, ' With the eyes and with the ears.'
Theaet. I should.
Soc. The free use of words and phrases, rather than
minute precision, is generally characteristic of a liberal
education, and the opposite is pedantic; but sometimes
precision is necessary, and I believe that the answer which
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Are we only wooden-horses? 245
you have just given is open to the charge of incorrect- Theaetetus,
ness ; for which is more correct, to say that we see or hear socratbs,
with the eyes and with the ears, or through the eyes and thbaktbtu*,
through the ears.
Theaet. I should say 'through,' Socrates, rather than
'with.'
Sac. Yes, my boy, for no one can suppose that in each of
us, as in a sort of Trojan horse, there are perched a number
of unconnected senses, which do not all meet in some one
nature, the mind, or whatever we please to call it, of which
they are the .instruments, and with which through them we
perceive objects of sense.
Theaet I agree with you in that opinion.
Soc. The reason why I am thus precise is, because I want We pcr-
to know whether, when we perceive black and white through ^^^, ,
1 ,.,,.., « « sensible
the eyes, and agam, other qualities through other organs, we things not
do not perceive them with one and the same part of our- through,
selves, and, if you were asked, you might refer all such ^^^^^ ^^
perceptions to the body. Perhaps, however, I had better not with,
allow you to answer for yourself and not interfere. Tell me, the ^s^
then, are not the organs through which you perceive warm
and hard and light and sweet, organs of the body ?
Theaet. Of the body, certainly.
185 Soc. And you would admit that what you perceive through The senses
one faculty you cannot perceive through another ; the objects e^ch^other
of hearing, for example, cannot be perceived through sight, and have
or the objects of sight through hearing ? Tn^comm^
Theaet Of course not.
Soc. If you have any thought about both of them, this
common perception cannot come to you, either through the
one or the other organ ?
Theaet It cannot.
Soc. How about sounds and colours : in the first place you
would admit that they both exist ?
Theaet Yes.
Soc. And that either of them is different from the other,
and the same with itself?
Theaet Certainly.
Soc. And that both are two and each of them one ?
Theaet Yes,
Digitized by VjOOQIC
246
The mind and the senses.
Theaetetus,
Socrates,
Thbastbtus.
General
ideas are
perceived
by the mind
alone with-
out the help
of the
senses.
Soc. You can further observe whether they are like or
unlike one another?
Theaet. I dare say.
Soc, But through what do you perceive all this about
them? for neither through hearing nor yet through seeing
can you apprehend that which they have in common. Let
me give you an illustration of the point at issue : — If there
were any meaning in asking whether sounds and colours are
saline or not, you would be able to tell me what faculty
wouta"" consider the question. It would not be sight or
hearing, but some other.
Theaet Certainly ; the faculty of taste.
Soc. Very good ; and now tell me what is the power
which discerns, not only in sensible objects, but in all things,
universal notions, such as those which are called being and
not-being, and those others about which we were just asking
— what organs will you assign for the perception of these
notions ?
Theaet You are thinking of being and not-being, likeness
and unlikeness, sameness and difference, and also of unity
and other numbers which are applied to objects of sense ;
and you mean to ask, through what bodily organ the soul
perceives odd and even numbers and other arithmetical
conceptions,
Soc. You follow me excellently, Theaetetus; that is pre-
cisely what I am asking.
Theaet Indeed, Socrates, I cannot answer ; my only notion
is, that these, unlike objects of sense, have no separate organ,
but that the mind, by a power of her own, contemplates the
universals in all things.
Soc, You are a beauty, Theaetetus, and not ugly, as Theo-
dorus was saying ; for he who utters the beautiful is himself
beautiful and good. And besides being beautiful, you have
done me a kindness in releasing me from a very long discus-
sion, if you are clear that the soul views some things by
herself and others through the bodily organs. For that was
my own opinion, and I wanted you to agree with me.
Theaet I am quite clear.
Soc. And to which class would you refer being or essence ; 186
for this, of all our notions, is the most universal ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The trm knowledge. 247
Theaet. I should say, to that class which the soul aspires Theaetetus.
to know of herself. Sockatbs,
Soc, And would you say this also of like and unlike, same th«abtbtu8.
and other ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. And would you say the same of the noble and base,
and of good and evil ?
Theaet. These I conceive to be notions which are essen-
tially relative, and which the soul also perceives by com-
paring in herself things past and present with the future.
Soc. And does she not perceive the hardness of that which The senses
is hard by the touch, and the softness of that which is soft P^<^|^c ^
"^ objects of
equally by the touch ? sense, but
Theaet. Yes. ^lonT*""^
Soc. But their essence and what they are, and their compare
opposition to one another, and the essential nature of this ^®™'
opposition, the soul herself endeavours to decide for us by
the review and comparison of them ?
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc. The simple sensations which reach the soul through SensaUons
the body are riven at birth to men and animals by nature, ^rt?!!!^'!
, . ., . , . . , 4-1 t , at birth, but
but their reflections on the bemg and use of them are slowly truth and
and hardly gained, if they are ever gained, by education and *^?^'
long experience. essential to
Theaet. Assuredly. knowie<^e.
Soc. And can a man attain truth who fails of attainmg bJTrefl^on
being ? ^^^ ^^*
Theaet. Impossible.
Soc. And can he who misses the truth of anything, have a
knowledge of that thing?
Theaet. He cannot.
Soc. Then knowledge does not consist in impressions of
sense, but in reasoning about them ; in that only, and not in
the mere impression, truth and being can be attained ?
Theaet. Clearly.
Soc. And would you call the two processes by the same
name, when there is so great a difference between them ?
Theaet. That would certainly not be right.
Soc. And what name would you give to seeing, hearing,
smelling, being cold and being hot ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
248
Knowledge is true opinion.
Theaetetus,
Socrates,
Thbastetus.
We have
found out
then what
knowledge
is not. But
what is it?
Thcaetetus
boldly
answers,
•True
opinion.'
TheaeL I should call all of them perceiving— what other
name could be given to them ?
Sac. Perception would be the collective name of them ?
TheaeL Certainly.
Sac. Which, as we say, has no part in the attainment of
truth any more than of being ?
TheaeL Certainly not.
Sac. And therefore not in science or knowledge ?
TheaeL No.
Sac. Then perception, Theaetetus, can never be the same
as knowledge or science ?
TheaeL Clearly not, Socrates; and knowledge has now
been most distinctly proved to be different from percep-
tion.
Sac. But the original aim of our discussion was to find out i^
rather what knowledge is than what it is not; at the same
time we have made some progress, for we no longer seek for
knowledge in perception at all, but in that other process,
however called, in which the mind is alone and engaged with
being.
TheaeL You mean, Socrates, if I am not mistaken, what is
called thinking or opining.
Sac. You conceive truly. And now, my friend, please to
begin again at this point; and having wiped out of your
memory all that has preceded, see if you have arrived at any
clearer view, and once more say what is knowledge.
TheaeL I cannot say, Socrates, that all opinion is know-
ledge, because there may be a false opinion ; but I will
venture to assert, that knowledge is true opinion : let this
then be my reply ; and if this is hereafter disproved, I must
try to find another.
Sac. That is the way in which you ought to answer, Theae-
tetus, and not in your former hesitating strain, for if we are
bold we shall gain one of two advantages ; either we shall
find what we seek, or we shall be less likely to think that we
know what we do not know — in either case we shall be richly
rewarded. And now, what are you sa3ang ? — ^Are there two
sorts of opinion, one true and the other false ; and do you
define knowledge to be the true ?
TheaeL Yes, according to my present view.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
But what of false opinion ? — 249
Sac. Is it still worth our while to resume the discussion Tfuaetaus,
touching opinion ? Sociates.
Theaet. To what are you alluding ? Theaetetus.
Sac. There is a point which often troubles me, and is
a great perplexity to me, both in regard to myself and others.
I cannot make out the nature or origin of the mental ex-
perience to which I refer.
Theaet. Pray what is it ?
Soc. How there can. be false opinion — that difficulty still But iB\se
troubles the eye of my mind ; and I am uncertain whether ?^^J^iJfe
I shall leave the question, or begin over again in a new (i) in the '
way. S^'^J^
•^ knowledge :
Theaet, Begin again, Socrates, — at least if you think that
there is the slightest necessity for doing so. Were not you
and Theodorus just now remarking very truly, that in dis-
cussions of this kind we may take our own time ?
Soc. You are quite right, and perhaps there will be no
harm in retracing our steps and beginning again. Better
a little which is well done, than a great deal imperfectly.
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc. Well, and what is the difficulty? Do we not speak of
false opinion, and say that one man holds a false and another
a true opinion, as though there were some natural distinction,
between them ?
Theaet. We certainly say so.
188 Soc. All things and everything are either known or not for all
known. I leave out of view the intermediate conceptions ^^^*"
of learning and forgetting, because they have nothing to do known or
with our present question. ^""^ Vno^,
Theaet. There can be no doubt, Socrates, if you exclude
these, that there is no other alternative but knowing or not
knowing a thing.
Soc. That point being now determined, must we not say
that he who has an opinion, must have an opinion about
something which he knows or does not know ?
Theaet. He must.
Soc. He who knows, cannot but know; and he who does
not know, cannot know ?
Theaet. Of course.
Soc. What shall we say then ? When a man has a false
Digitized by VjOOQIC
250 When is it possible ?
Theaeteius, opinion does he think that which he knows to be some other
SocRATKs, thing which he knows, and knowing both, is he at the same
THEA.TBTU8. timc ignoFant of both ?
and a man Theaet That, Socrates, is impossible.
think one ^^^' ^^^ perhaps he thinks of something which he does not
thing, know as some other thing which he does not know ; for ex-
Low^ or ample, he knows neither Theaetetus nor Socrates, and yet he
does not fancies that Theaetetus is Socrates, or Socrates Theaetetus ?
know.^tobe 7A,«,/. Howcanhe?
thing which Soc. But surely he cannot suppose what he knows to be
what he does not know, or what he does not know to be what
he knows or
does not
know ; nor he knOWS ?
what he TheaeL That would be monstrous.
does not
know to be Soc. Where, then, is false opinion ? For if all things are
^' ^® either known or unknown, there can be no opinion which is
vice versa : "ot Comprehended under this alternative, and so false opinion
is excluded,
Theaet, Most true,
and (a) in Soc. Suppose that we remove the question out of the
of^i^ngT sphere of knowing or not knowing, into that of being and
not-being.
Theaet, What do you mean ?
Soc. May we not suspect the simple truth to be that he
who thinks about anything, that which is not, will necessarily
think what is false, whatever in other respects may be the
state of his mind ?
Theaet. That, again, is not unlikely, Socrates.
Soc, Then suppose some one to say to us, Theaetetus : —
Is it possible for any man to think that which is not, either as
a self-existent substance or as a predicate of something else ?
And suppose that we answer, ' Yes, he can, when he thinks
what is not true.' — That will be our answer?
Theaet, Yes.
Soc. But is there any parallel to this ?
Theaet, What do you mean ?
possible Soc, Can a man see something and yet see nothing?
when seeing Theaet, Impossible.
not to see Soc, But if he sees any one thing, he sees something that
or hear exists. Do you suppose that what is one is ever to be found
some exist- ... ., . ^
ing thing, among non-existmg thmgs ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
False opinion is 'heterodoxy! 251
TheaeU I do not. Tkeaetetus,
Sac. He then who sees some one thing, sees something sockates.
which is ? THKAincTUi.
TheaeU Clearly.
189 Sac. And he who hears anything, hears some one thing,
and hears that which is ?
Theaet, Yes.
Sac, And he who touches anything, touches something
which is one and therefore is ?
Theaet, That again is true.
Soc, And does not he who thinks, think some one thing ?
TheaeU Certainly.
Sac. And does not he who thinks some one thing, think
something which is ?
TheaeU I agree.
Soc, Then he who thinks of that which is not, thinks of To think
»«^4-u:*«o. '> what is not
"^''^^"g^ is not to
TheaeU Clearly. think.
Soc, And he who thinks of nothing, does not think at all?
TheaeU Obviously.
Soc, Then no one can think that which is not, either as
a self-existent substance or as a predicate of something
else?
TheaeU Clearly not.
Soc, Then to think falsely is different from thinking that
which is not ?
Theaet, It would seem so.
Soc. Then false opinion has no existence in us, either in False
the sphere of being or of knowledge ? must be
Theaet. Certainly not. sought eise-
Soc. But may not the following be the description of what "^^^^^
we express by this name ?
Theaet. What? gf^Jt
Soc, May we not suppose that false opinion or thought is thought to
a sort of heterodoxy; a person may make an exchange in his ^^^1^^
mind, and say that one real object is another real object, object.—
For thus he always thinks that which is, but he puts one ^^^**^*^
thing in place of another, and missing the aim of his thoughts, phaUcaiiy
he may be truly said to have false opinion. bftmi *°
Theaet, Now you appear to me to have spoken the exact false.
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252
The soul talking with herself.
Theaetetus.
sockatbs,
Thbabtbtus.
Socrates
allows this
contradic-
tion to pass,
and pro-
ceeds to ask
whether a
man ever
believed
one of two
things-
which he
had in his
mind to be
the other.
truth : when a man puts the base in the place of the noble,
or the noble in the place of the base, then he has truly false
opinion.
Soc. I see, Theaetetus, that your fear has disappeared,
and that you are beginning to despise me.
TheaeU What makes you say so ?
Soc. You think, if I am not mistaken, that your 'truly
false' is safe from censure, and that I shall never ask
whether there can be a swift which is slow, or a heavy which
is light, or any other self-contradictory thing, which works,
not according to its own nature, but according to that of its
opposite. But I will not insist upon this, for I do not
wish needlessly to discourage you. And so you are satisfied
that false opinion is heterodoxy, or the thought of something
else?
Theaet, I am.
Soc. It is possible then upon your view for the mind to
conceive of one thing as another?
Theaet. True.
Soc. But must not the mind, or thinking power, which
misplaces them, have a conception either of both objects or
of one of them ?
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc. Either together or in succession ?
Theaet. Very good. \
Soc. And do you mean by conceiving, the same which
I mean?
Theaet. What is that?
Soc. I mean the conversation which the soul holds with
herself in considering of anything. I speak of what I
scarcely understand ; but the soul when thinking appears 190
to me to be just talking — asking questions of herself and
answering them, affirming and denying. And when she
has arrived at a decision, either gradually or by a sudden
impulse, and has at last agreed, and does not doubt, this
is called her opinion. I say, then, that to form an opinion
is to speak, and opinion is a word spoken, — I mean, to
oneself and in silence, not aloud or to another : What think
you?
Theaet. I agree.
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The perplexity grows upon us. 253
Soc, Then when any one thinks of one thing as another, Theatutus.
he is sa3ring to himself that one thing is another ? sooutes,
TheaeU Yes. TH«AmTU8.
Soc. But do you ever remember saying to yourself that the But how
noble is certainly base, or the unjust just ; or, best of all — ^g*^
have you ever attempted to convince yourself that one thing thought to
is another? Nay, not even in sleep, did you ever venture *^^*^^^^
to say to yourself that odd is even, or anything of the ^-^-"^^^^^
ever s&jr s 10
kind ? himself that
Theaet. Never. ^e noble u
the base, or
Soc. And do you suppose that any other man, either in his that odd is
senses or out of them, ever seriously tried to persuade •^^^
himself that an ox is a horse, or that two are one ?
Theaet Certainly not
Soc. But if thinking is talking to oneself, no one speaking
and thinking of two objects, and apprehejuUng them both in
his soul, will say and think that the one is the other of them,
and I must add, that even you, lover of dispute as you are,
had better let the word 'other* alone [i. e. not insist that
'one* and 'other* are the same*], I mean to say, that
no one thinks the noble to be base, or anything of the
kind.
Theaet I will give up the word 'other,' Socrates; and
I agree to what you say,
Soc. If a man has both of them in his thoughts, he cannot it is ad-
think that the one of them is the other ? . ^J ^^dT
Theaet. True, that no one
Soc. Neither, if he has one of them only in his mind and **" copftwc
' "^ two things,
not the other, can he think that one is the other ? either when
Theaet True; for we should have to suppose that he J»e has both
,,,.,. .i.i « \% »>i his mind,
apprehends that which is not in his thoughts at all. or when he
Soc. Then no one who has either both or only one of has only
the two objects in his mind can think that the one is the
other. And therefore, he who maintains that false opinion
is heterodoxy is talking nonsense ; for neither in this, any
more than in the previous way, can false opinion exist
in us.
Theaet No.
> Both wordf in Greek are called Irc^r : cp. Parmen. 147 C ; Enthyd. 301 A.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
254 -^ ^^^ light.
Theaetetus, Soc. But if, Theaetetus, this is not admitted, we shall be
SocHATEs, driven into many absurdities.
Theaetetus. 7^^^^^^ ^^at are they ?
Soc. I will not tell you until I have endeavoured to con-
sider the matter from every point of view. For I should be 191
ashamed of us if we were driven in our perplexity to admit
We are in the absurd consequences of which I speak. But if we find
f^^ the solution, and get away from them, we may regard them
only as the difficulties of others, and the ridicule will not
attach to us. On the other hand, if we utterly fail, I suppose
that we must be humble, and allow the argument to trample
us under foot, as the sea-sick passenger is trampled upon by
A way out the sailor, and to do an3rthing to us. Listen, then, while
cuity^:*^^" ^ ^^'^ y^^ ^^^ I '^^^P^ '^ fi"^ ^ w^y out of our difficulty.
Theaetetus Theaet. Let me hear.
SoCTa^es*^ So^. I think that we were wrong in denying that a man
and yet mis- could think what he knew to be what he did not know; and
mher^hom ^^^^ there is a way in which such a deception is possible,
he sees, but Theaet You mean to say, as I suspected at the time, that
know°?r ^ ^^^ know Socrates, and at a distance see some one who is
him.' unknown to me, and whom I mistake for him— then the
deception will occur ?
Soc. But has not that position been relinquished by us, be-
cause involving the absurdity that we should i^now and not
know the things which we know ?
Theaet. True.
Soc. Let us make the assertion in another form, which
may or may not have a favourable issue ; but as we are in
a great strait, every argument should be turned over and
tested. Tell me, then, whether I am right in saying that
you may learn a thing which at one time you did not know ?
Theaet. Certainly you may.
Soc. And another and another ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. I would have you imagine, then, that there exists in
the mind of man a block of wax, which is of different sizes
in different men ; harder, moister, and having more or less
of purity in one than another, and in some of an intermediate
quality.
Theaet. I see.
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A catalogtie of mistakes which are impossible y 255
Sac. Let us say that this tablet is a gift of Memory, the Theaeutus.
mother of the Muses ; and that when we wish to remember s<x»ate».
anything which we have seen, or heard, or thought in our thiakt^us.
own minds, we hold the wax to the perceptions and thoughts, The image
and in that material receive the impression of them as from ^en
the seal of a ring ; and that we remember and know what is tablet
imprinted as long as the image lasts ; but when the image is ^flfe^nt
effaced, or cannot be taken, then we forget and do not know. qxiaiiUes of
TheaeL Very good.
Sac, Now, when a person has this knowledge, and is con-
sidering something which he sees or hears, may not false
opinion arise in the following manner ?
TheaeL In what manner ?
Soc. When he thinks what he knows, sometimes to be
what he knows, and sometimes to be what he does not know.
We were wrong before in denying the possibility of this.
TheaeU And how would you amend the former statement ?
192 Soc. I should begin by making a list of the impossible Confusion is
cases which must be excluded, (i) No one can think one impossible,
thing to be another when he does not perceive either of twothin^
them, but has the memorial or seal of both of them in his ^^} per-
mind ; nor can any mistaking of one thing for another occur, ^J^ J^^
when he only knows one, and does not know, and has no we know
impression of the other ; nor can he think that one thing or ndtfiCT^
which he does not know is another thing which he does not of them ;
know, or that what he does not know is what he knows ; ^f^ ^t^een
' ' two things
nor (2) that one thing which he perceives is another thing when we
which he perceives, or that something which he perceives is ^.f![® ? *"*"
something which he does not perceive; or that something pressionof
which he does not perceive is something else which he does °"** ^^ ^^h
, , . , . , , , . orneitherof
not perceive ; or that something which he does not perceive them ; (3)
is something which he perceives ; nor again (3) can he think f^" ™ore
that something which he knows and perceives, and of which l^t^^n *
he has the impression coinciding with sense, is something two things,
else which he knows and perceives, and of which he has the v^i^ch'are
impression coinciding with sense ; — this last case, if possible, known and
is still more inconceivable than the others ; nor (4) can he ^^/^'
think that something which he knows and perceives, and of which the
which he has the memorial coinciding with sense, is some- ""P^*''*
,.,,.,,, , , comades
thing else which he knows ; nor so long as these agree, can with sense ;
Digitized by VjOOQIC
256 and of mistakes which are possible.
Theaetetus, he think that a thing which he knows and perceives is
Socrates, another thing which he perceives ; or that a thing which he
Theaetbtus. jQgg jjQj know and does not perceive, is the same as another
(4) between thing which he does not know and does not perceive : — nor
two things r , , . ., . , . , , , ,
of which again, can he suppose that a thing which he does not know
both or one and does not perceive is the same as another thing which
neithCT are he does not know ; o^ that a thing which he does not know
known and and does not perceive is another thing which he does
MdSi^an "^' perceive : — All these utterly and absolutely exclude the
impression possibility of false opinion. The only cases, if any, which
^g';:^^: '•e*^"' a'-e the following.
TheaeU What are they? If you tell me, I may perhaps
understand you better ; but at present I am unable to follow
you.
Confusion Soc, A person may think that some things which he
forcings" knows, or which he perceives and does not know, are some
abeady other things which he knows and perceives; or that some
perceived*^ things which he knows and perceives, are other things which
we mistake he knows and perceives,
other Theaet. I understand you less than ever now.
things, ^
either Soc. Hear me once more, then : — I, knowing Theodorus,
^^^ed"^ and remembering in my own mind what sort of person he is,
and not and also what sort of person Theaetetus is, at one time see
known, or them, and at another time do not see them, and sometimes I
both known , , , ... . ,
and per- touch them, and at another time not, or at one time I may
ceived. hear them or perceive them in some other way, and at
another time not perceive them, but still I remember them,
and know them in my own mind.
Theaet Very true.
Sac. Then, first of all, I want you to understand that
a man may or may not perceive sensibly that which he
knows.
Theaet. True.
Sac. And that which he does not know will sometimes not
be perceived by him and sometimes will be perceived and
only perceived ?
Theaet. That is also true.
Recapituia- Soc, See whether you can follow me better now : Socrates 193
can recognize Theodorus and Theaetetus, but he sees neither
of them, nor does he perceive them in any other way ; he
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Confusion of thought and sense : Recapitulation. 257
cannot then by any possibility imagine in his own mind that Theaeutus,
Theaetetus is Theodorus. Am I not right ? Socrates.
Theaet You are quite right. theaetetus.
Soc, Then that was the first case of which I spoke.
TheaeU Yes.
Soc, The second case was, that I, knowing one of you and
not knowing the other, and perceiving neither, can never
think him whom I know to be him whom I do not know.
TheaeU True.
Soc. In the third case, not knowing and not perceiving
either of you, I cannot think that one of you whom I do not
know is the other whom I do not know. I need not again
go over the catalogue of excluded cases, in which I cannot
form a false opinion about you and Theodorus, either when
I know both or when I am in ignorance of both, or when I
know one and not the other. And the same of perceiving :
do you understand me ?
TheaeU I do.
Soc. The only possibility of erroneous opinion is, when False
knowing you and Theodorus, and having on the waxen ^g'*^^"^^
block the impression of both of you given as by a seal, but roneous
seeing you imperfectly and at a distance, I try to assign the <^o™b>pa-
right impression of memory to the right visual impression, sation and
and to fit this into its own print : if I succeed, recognition ^oug^t-
will take place; but if I fail and transpose them, putting the
foot into the wrong shoe — that is to say, putting the vision of
either of you on to the wrong impression, or if my mind, like
the sight in a mirror, which is transferred from right to left,
err by reason of some similar affection, then ' heterodoxy *
and false opinion ensues.
TheaeU Yes, Socrates, you have described the nature of
opinion with wonderful exactness.
Soc. Or again, when I know both of you, and perceive as
well as know one of you, but not the other, and my know-
ledge of him does not accord with perception — that was the
case put by me just now which you did not understand.
TheaeU No, I did not.
Soc. I meant to say, that when a person knows and per-
ceives one of you, and his knowledge coincides with his
perception, he will never think him to be some other person,
VOL. IV. s
Digitized by VjOOQIC
258
The causes of truth and error.
Theaetetus.
soolatvs,
Thkabtrtus.
The diflFer-
ences in the
kinds and
degrees of
knowledge
depend on
the extent
and the
qualities of
the wax.
whom he knows and perceives, and the knowledge of whom
coincides with his perception — for that also was a case
supposed.
Theaet, True.
Sac. But there was an omission of the further case, in
which, as we now say, false opinion may arise, when know- 194
ing both, and seeing, or having some other sensible percep-
tion of both, I fail in holding the seal over against the
corresponding sensation ; like a bad archer, I miss and fall
wide of the mark — and this is called falsehood.
Theaet Yes ; it is rightly so called.
Sac, When, therefore, perception is present to one of the
seals or impressions but not to the other, and the mind fits
the seal of the absent perception on the one which is present,
in any case of this sort the mind is deceived ; in a word, if
our view is sound, there can be no error or deception about
things which a man does not know and has never perceived,
but only in things which are known and perceived ; in these
alone opinion turns and twists about, and becomes altern-
ately true and false ;— true when the seals and impressions of
sense meet straight and opposite — false when they go awry
and are crooked.
Theaet. And is not that, Socrates, nobly said ?
Sac. Nobly ! yes ; but wait a little and hear the explana-
tion, and then you will say so with more reason; for to
think truly is noble and to be deceived is base.
Theaet. Undoubtedly.
Sac. And the origin of truth and error is as follows : —
When the wax in the soul of any one is deep and abundant,
and smooth and perfectly tempered, then the impressions
which pass through the senses and sink into the heart of
the soul, as Homer says in a parable, meaning to indicate
the likeness of the soul to wax "t«^p ic^pAr) ; these, I say, being
pure and clear, and having a sufficient depth of wax, are also
lasting, and minds, such as these, easily learn and easily
retain, and are not liable to confusion, but have true thoughts,
for they have plenty of room, and having clear impressions
of things, as we term them, quickly distribute them into their
proper places on the block. And such men are called wise.
Do you agree ?
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Socrates in despair at his own talkativeness, 259
Theaet Entirely. Theaetetus.
Sac. But when the heart of any one is shaggy — a quality sockates,
which the all-wise poet commends, or muddy and of impure Theaetetus.
wax, or very soft, or very hard, then there is a corresponding
defect in the mind — the soft are good at learning, but apt to
forget ; and the hard are the reverse ; the shaggy and rugged
and gritty, or those who have an admixture of earth or dung
195 in their composition, have the impressions indistinct, as also
the hard, for there is no depth in them ; and the soft too are
indistinct, for their impressions are easily confused and
effaced. Yet greater is the indistinctness when they are
all jostled together in a little soul, which has no room.
These are the natures which have false opinion ; for when
they see or hear or think of anything, they are slow in
assigning the right objects to the right impressions — in their
stupidity they confuse them, and are apt to see and hear and
think amiss — and such men are said to be deceived in their
knowledge of objects, and ignorant.
Theaet, No man, Socrates, can say anything truer than that.
Sac, Then now we may admit the existence of false opinion
in us ?
Theaet Certainly.
Sac, And of true opinion also ?
Theaet Yes.
Soc, We have at length satisfactorily proven that beyond
a doubt there are these two sorts of opinion ?
Theaet Undoubtedly...
Soc, Alas, Theaetetus, what a tiresome creature is a man
who is fond of talking I
Theaet What makes you say so ?
Soc, Because I am disheartened at my own stupidity and
tiresome garrulity; for what other term will describe the
habit of a man who is always arguing on all sides of a
question; whose dulness cannot be convinced, and who
will never leave off?
Theaet But what puts you out of heart ?
Soc, I am not only out of heart, but in positive despair ; Our simile
for I do not know what to answer if any one were to ask **°*^?°^
me:— O Socrates, have you indeed discovered that false the facts;
opinion arises neither in the comparison of perceptions with ^^^ ^^'^
may arise
S 2
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26o
A flaw detected.
ThetuMus.
Socrates,
Thraetetus.
not only in
the com-
bination of
thought
and sense,
but in pure
thought.
For ex-
ample, a
man may
think that
instead of
la, and so
confuse two
impressions
on the wax.
one another nor yet in thought, but in the union of thought
and perception? Yes, I shall say, with the complacence
of one who thinks that he has made a noble discovery.
Theaet. I see no reason why we should be ashamed of our
demonstration, Socrates.
Soc. He will say : You mean to argue that the man whom
we only think of and do not see, cannot be confused with the
horse which we do not see or touch, but only think of and
do not perceive ? That I believe to be my meaning, I shall
reply.
Theaet, Quite right.
Soc, Well, then, he will say, according to that argument,
the number eleven, which is only thought, can never be
mistaken for twelve, which is only thought : How would you
answer him ?
Theaet, I should say that a mistake may very likely arise
between the eleven or twelve which are seen or handled, but
that no similar mistake can arise between the eleven and
twelve which are in the mind.
Soc, Well, but do you think that no one ever put before
his own mind five and seven, — I do not mean five or seven 19^
men or horses, but five or seven in the abstract, which, as
we say, are recorded on the waxen block, and in which false
opinion is held to be impossible ; — did no man ever ask
himself how many these numbers make when added together,
and answer that they are eleven, while another thinks that
they are twelve, or would all agree in thinking and saying
that they are twelve ?
Theaet, Certainly not; many would think that they are
eleven, and in the higher numbers the chance of error is
greater still ; for I assume you to be speaking of numbers in
general.
Soc, Exactly; and I want you to consider whether this
does not imply that the twelve in the waxen block are
supposed to be eleven ?
Theaet, Y-es, that seems to be the case.
Soc, Then do we not come back to the old difficulty?
For he who makes such a mistake does think one thing
which he knows to be another thing which he knows ; but
this, as we said, was impossible, and afforded an irresistible
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Theaetetus,
\ V
I confusion We must \ /
; not have therefore Y
admit either
Before using words we should know what they Tuean. 261
proof of the non-existence of false opinion, because otherwise Theaetetus.
the same person would inevitably know and not know the socrates,
same thing at the same time.
Theaet, Most true.
Sac. Then false opinion cannot be explained as a <
of thought and sense, for in that case we could
been mistaken about pure conceptions of thought ; and thus that false
we are obliged to say, either that false opinion does not opinion
exist, or that a man may not know that which he knows ; — exist, or that
which alternative do you prefer ? a man may
Theaet. It is hard to determine, Socrates. ^hat he
Sac. And yet the argument will scarcely admit of both, knows.
But, as we are at our wits' end, suppose that we do a shame-
less thing ?
Theaet. What is it?
Sac. Let us attempt to explain the verb 'to know.' As a last re-
Theaet. And why should that be shameless ? ^^. *
Sac. You seem not to be aware that the whole of our What is the
discussion from the very beginning has been a search after ?J^"^w°?
knowledge, of which we are assumed not to know the nature.
Theaet. Nay, but I am well aware.
Sac. And is it not shameless when we do not know what But how
knowledge is, to be explaining the verb 'to know'? The <=*"^®
truth is, Theaetetus, that we have long been infected with question
logical impurity. Thousands of times have we repeated the while we
words 'we know,' and 'do not know,' and 'we have or have ignorant of
not science or knowledge,' as if we could understand what ^^^^ V-noyt-
, , . . ledge is ?
we are sajang to one another, so long as we remain ignorant
about knowledge; and at this moment we are using the
words 'we understand,' *we are ignorant,' as though we
could still employ them when deprived of knowledge or
science.
Theaet, But if you avoid these expressions, Socrates, how
will you ever argue at all ?
197 Soc. I could not, being the man I am. The case would
be different if I were a true hero of dialectic : and O that
such an one were present I for he would have told us to
avoid the use of these terms ; at the same time he would not
have spared in you and me the faults which I have noted.
But, seeing that we are no great wits, shall I venture to say
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262
To know is to possess knowledge.
'To know'
is not ' to
have,' but
•to possess
knowledge.'
Theaeietus, what knowing is ? for I think that the attempt may be worth
Socrates, making.
Theaetetus. Theaet, Then by all means venture, and no one shall find
Stuiwehad fault with you for using the forbidden terms.
Sac, You have heard the common explanation of the verb
' to know ' ?
TheaeL I think so, but I do not remember it at the moment.
Sac, They explain the word 'to know' as meaning 'to
have knowledge.*
Theaet. True.
Soc. I should like to make a slight change, and say ' to
possess ' knowledge.
Theaet. How do the two expressions differ?
Soc. Perhaps there may be no difference ; but still I should
like you to hear my view, that you may help me to test it.
Theaet. I will, if I can.
Soc. I should distinguish ' having ' from ' possessing ' : for
example, a man may buy and keep under his control a
garment which he does not wear ; and then we should say,
not that he has, but that he possesses the garment.
Theaet. It would be the correct expression.
Soc. Well, may not a man ' possess ' and yet not ' have '
knowledge in the sense of which I am speaking ? As you
may suppose a man to have caught wild birds — doves or any
other birds— and to be keeping them in an aviary which he
has constructed at home ; we might say of him in one sense,
that he always has them because he possesses them, might
we not ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. And yet, in another sense, he has none of them ; but
they are in his power, and he has got them under his hand
in an enclosure of his own, and can take and have them
knowledge, whenever he likes ; — he can catch any which he likes, and
let the bird go again, and he may do so as oflen as he
pleases.
Theaet. True.
Soc, Once more, then, as in what preceded we made a sort
of waxen figment in the mind, so let us now suppose that
in the mind of each man there is an aviary of all sorts of
birds— some flocking together apart from the rest, others in
To aius-
trate this
distinction
let us com-
pare the
mind to an
aviary
which is
gradually
filled with
different
kinds of
birds, cor-
responding
to the
varieties of
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The mind compared to an aviary. 263
small groups, others solitary, fl3dng anywhere and every- Tfuaetetus.
where. Socrates.
Theaet Let us imagine such an aviary — and what is to thea«tetus.
follow ?
Sac. We may suppose that the birds are kinds of know- Three
ledge, and that when we were children, this receptacle was ^^^ °^
empty ; whenever a man has gotten and detained in the sion :—
enclosure a kind of knowledge, he may be said to have ^^V^^
learned or discovered the thing which is the subject of the ^^ure ;
knowledge : and this is to know. (») ^^« <J«-
Theaet Granted. the cage;
198 Soc, And further, when any one wishes to catch any of (3) the
these knowledges or sciences, and having taken, to hold it, ^for^
and again to let them go, how will he express himself? —
will he describe the 'catching* of them and the original
' possession * in the same words ? I will make my meaning
clearer by an example : — You admit that there is an art of
arithmetic ?
Theaet To be sure.
Soc^ Conceive this under the form of a hunt after the
science of odd and even in general.
Theaet I follow.
Sac. Having the use of the art, the arithmetician, if I am
not mistaken, has the conceptions of number under his hand,
and can transmit them to another.
Theaet Yes.
Sac, And when transmitting them he may be said to teach
them, and when receiving to learn them, and when having
them in possession in the aforesaid aviary he may be said to
know them.
Theaet Exactly.
Soc, Attend to what follows : must not the perfect arithme-
tician know all numbers, for he has the science of all numbers
in his mind ?
Theaet True.
Soc, And he can reckon abstract numbers in his head, or
things about him which are numerable ?
Theaet Of course he can.
Soc, And to reckon is simply to consider how much such
and such a number amounts to ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
264
Degrees of knowledge.
TheaeUtus.
sockatbs,
Theaetetus.
The three
stages of
know-
ledge : —
(i) acqulsi-
tion;
(a) latent
possession ;
(3) con-
scious pos-
session and
False
opinion
arises if
the arith-
metician,
when
searching
for a certain
number,
catches the
wrong one.
Theaet, Very true.
Soc. And so he appears to be searching into something
which he knows, as if he did not know it, for we have already
admitted that he knows all numbers ;— you have heard these
perplexing questions raised ?
TheaeL I have.
Soc. May we not pursue the image of the doves, and say
that the chase after knowledge is of two kinds ? one kind is
prior to possession and for the sake of possession, and the
other for the sake of taking and holding in the hands that
which is possessed already. And thus, when a man has
learned and known something long ago, he may resume and
get hold of the knowledge which he has long possessed, but
has not at hand in his mind.
Theaet, True.
Soc, That was my reason for asking how we ought to
speak when an arithmetician sets about numbering, or a
grammarian about reading ? Shall we say, that although he
knows, he comes back to himself to learn what he already
knows ?
Theaet, It would be too absurd, Socrates.
Soc, Shall we say then that he is going to read or number
what he does not know, although we have admitted that he 199
knows all letters and all numbers ?
Theaet, That, again, would be an absurdity.
Soc, Then shall we say that about names we care nothing ?
— any one may twist and turn the words 'knowing' and
'learning' in any way which he likes, but since we have
determined that the possession of knowledge is not the
having or using it, we do assert that a man cannot not
possess that which he possesses ; and, therefore, in no case
can a man not know that which he knows, but he may get a
false opinion about it ; for he may have the knowledge, not
of this particular thing, but of some other ; — when the various
numbers and forms of knowledge are fl3ang about in the
aviary, and wishing to capture a certain sort of knowledge
out of the general store, he takes the wrong one by mistake,
that is to say, when he thought eleven to be twelve, he got
hold of the ring-dove which he had in his mind, when he
wanted the pigeon.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The old difficulty reappears. 265
Theaet, A very rational explanation. Theaeutus,
Soc, But when he catches the one which he wants, then he SocRArmt,
is not deceived, and has an opinion of what is, and thus false thbabtetus.
and true opinion may exist, and the difficulties which were ^°'' * ™*^
previously raised disappear. I dare say that you agree with explanation
me, do you not ? appears
Theaet. Yes. satisfcctory.
Soc, And so we are rid of the difficulty of a man's not
knowing what he knows, for we are not driven to the infer-
ence that he does not possess what he possesses, whether
he be or be not deceived. And yet I fear that a greater But again
difficulty is looking in at the window. difficiut
Theaet What is it ? returns ; for
Soc, How can the exchange of one knowledge for another J^*™*"
ever become false opinion ? ledge in his
Theaet What do you mean ? ^^^* ^<>r
Soc, In the first place, how can a man who has the know- take it for
ledge of anything be ignorant of that which he knows, not ignorance?
by reason of ignorance, but by reason of his own knowledge ?
And, again, is it not an extreme absurdity that he should
suppose another thing to be this, and this to be another
thing ; — that, having knowledge present with him in his mind,
he should still know nothing and be ignorant of all things ? —
you might as well argue that ignorance may make a man
know, and blindness make him see, as that knowledge can
make him ignorant
Theaet, Perhaps, Socrates, we may have been wrong in Thcaetetus
making only forms of knowledge our birds : whereas there ^uggwts
»•• - i.. 11 n* 1 ^^^^ there
ought to have been forms of ignorance as well, flying about are forms of
together in the mind, and then he who sought to take one of 'g^orance.
them might sometimes catch a form of knowledge, and some- of know-
times a form of ignorance ; and thus he would have a false l^^f®- ^y^
opinion from ignorance, but a true one from knowledge, IH^the
about the same thing. aviary. But
Soc, I cannot help praising you, Theaetetus, and yet I who'm^es
200 must beg you to reconsider your words. Let us grant what a mistake
you say— then, according to you, he who takes ignorance will fo^^^jg.
have a false opinion — am I right ? norance for
Theaet. Yes. I^^^Xdle.-
Soc, He will certainly not think that he has a false opinion ? and so we
Digitized by VjOOQIC
266
Theaetetus.
socbates,
Thbaetstus.
are brought
back to the
original
difficulty.
It will be
ridiculous
to attempt
to get rid of
this by the
help of
another
aviary, con-
taining
other birds,
i. e. forms
of know-
ledge.
Our dis-
comfiture is
due to the
fact that we
seek false
opinion
before
knowledge.
What then
is know-
ledge?
Figures of Speech are slippery things.
Theaet, Of course not.
Soc. He will think that his opinion is true, and he will
fancy that he knows the things about which he has been
deceived ?
Theaet, Certainly.
Soc, Then he will think that he has captured knowledge
and not ignorance ?
Theaet Clearly.
Soc, And thus, after going a long way round, we are once
more face to face with our original difficulty. The hero of
dialectic will retort upon us : — ' O my excellent friends, he
will say, laughing, if a man knows the form of ignorance and
the form of knowledge, can he think that one of them which
he knows is the other which he knows? or, if he knows
neither of them, can he think that the one which he knows not
is another which he knows not ? or, if he knows one and not
the other, can he think the one which he knows to be the one
which he does not know? or the one which he does not know
to be the one which he knows ? or will you tell me that there
are other forms of knowledge which distinguish the right and
wrong birds, and which the owner keeps in some other
aviaries or graven on waxen blocks according to your foolish
images, and which he may be said to know while he possesses
them, even though he have them not at hand in his mind ?
And thus, in a perpetual circle, you will be compelled to go
round and round, and you will make no progress.* What
are we to say in reply, Theaetetus ?
Theaet. Indeed, Socrates, I do not know what we are
to say.
Soc, Are not his reproaches just, and does not the argu-
ment truly show that we are wrong in seeking for false
opinion until we know what knowledge is; that must be
first ascertained ; then, the nature of false opinion ?
Theaet, I cannot but agree with you, Socrates, so far as
we have yet gone.
Soc, Then, once more, what shall we say that knowledge
is ? — for we are not going to lose heart as yet.
Theaet, Certainly, I shall not lose heart, if you do not.
Soc, What definition will be most consistent with our
former views?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Orators and lawyers are against us. 267
Theaet, I cannot think of any but our old one, Socrates. Theaetetus,
Soc. What was it ? Sochates,
Theaet, Knowledge was said by us to be true opinion ; and theabtbtus.
true opinion is surely unerring, and the results which follow An old
from it are all noble and good. api^ara :
Soc, He who led the way into the river, Theaetetus, said ' Know-
201 'The experiment will show;* and perhaps if we go forward o^^^f^n^*
in the search, we may stumble upon the thing which we
are looking for ; but if we stay where we are, nothing will
come to light.
Theaet, Very true ; let us go forward and try.
Soc, The trail soon comes to an end, for a whole profession
is against us.
Theaet, How is that, and what profession do you mean ?
Soc, The profession of the great wise ones who are called But true
orators and lawyers; for these persuade men by their art ^Q^'^^'^g
and make them think whatever they like, but they do not knowledge;
teach them. Do you imagine that there are any teachers in ^^*^J^^
the world so clever as to be able to convince others of the
truth about acts of robbery or violence, of which they were
not eye-witnesses, while a little water is flowing in the
clepsydra ?
Theaet, Certainly not, they can only persuade them.
Soc, And would you not say that persuading them is
making them have an opinion?
Theaet, To be sure.
Soc, When, therefore, judges are justly persuaded about
matters which you can know only by seeing them, and not in
any other way, and when thus judging of them from report
they attain a true opinion about them, they judge without
knowledge, and yet are rightly persuaded, if they have
judged well.
Theaet, Certainly.
Soc, And yet, O my friend, if true opinion in law courts *
and knowledge are the same, the perfect judge could not
have judged rightly without knowledge ; and therefore I
must infer that they are not the same.
Theaet, That is a distinction, Socrates, which I have heard
' Reading Kvrh. ZiKMn4ipw : an emendation suggested by Professor Campbell.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
268
Another attempt to define knowledge.
Thtaetelus.
Socrates,
Theabtbtus.
Another
notion :
Knowledge
is true
opinion ac-
companied
by a reason.
K^ ■/■'■■
The same
notion ex-
pressed by
Socrates in
a different
manner.
The simple
and pri-
meval ele-
ments can
only be
named ; it
is the com-
bination of
them in the
proposition
which gives
knowledge.
made by some one else, but I had forgotten it. He said that
true opinion, combined with reason, was knowledge, but that
the opinion which had no reason was out of the sphere of
knowledge ; and that things of which there is no rational
account are not knowable — such was the singular expression
which he used — and that things which have a reason or
explanation are knowable.
Sac, Excellent ; but then, how did he distinguish between
things which are and are not ' knowable * ? I wish that you
would repeat to me what he said, and then I shall know
whether yoii and I have heard the same tale.
Theaet. I do not know whether I can recall it; but if
another person would tell me, I think that I could follow
him.
Sac. Let me give you, then, a dream in return for a dream:
— Methought that I too had a dream, and I heard in my
dream that the primeval letters or elements out of which you
and I and all other things are compounded, have no reason
or explanation ; you can only name them, but no predicate 202
can be either affirmed or denied of them, for in the one case
existence, in the other non-existence is already implied, neither
of which must be added, if you mean to speak of this or that
thing by itself alone. It should not be called itself, or that,
or each, or alone, or this, or the like ; for these go about
everywhere and are applied to all things, but are distinct
from them ; whereas, if the first elements could be described,
and had a definition of their own, they would be spoken
of apart from all else. But none of these primeval elements
can be defined ; they can only be named, for they have
nothing but a name, and the things which are compounded
of them, as they are complex, are expressed by a combination
of names, for the combination of names is the essence of
a definition. Thus, then, the elements or letters are only
objects of perception, and cannot be defined or known ; but
the syllables or combinations of them are known and ex-
pressed, and are apprehended by true opinion. When,
therefore, anyone forms the true opinion of anything without
rational explanation, you may say that his mind is truly
exercised, but has no knowledge ; for he who cannot give
and receive a reason for a thing, has no knowledge of that
Digitized by VjOOQIC
* Knowledge is of the composite' 269
thing; but when he adds rational explanation, then, he is Theaetetus,
perfected in knowledge and may be all that I have been Socrates,
denying of him. Was that the form in which the dream thbaetetvs.
appeared to you ?
Theaet Precisely.
Soc. And you allow and maintain that true opinion,
combined with definition or rational explanation, is know-
ledge ?
Theaet Exactly.
Soc, Then may we assume, Theaetetus, that to-day, and
in this casual manner, we have found a truth which in
former times many wise men have grown old and have not
found? y
Theaet At any rate, Socrates, I am satisfied with the
present statement.
^ Soc. Which is probably correct — for how can there be
X-Ci '^ ^ \ knowledge apart from definition and true opinion ? And yet
there is one point in what has been said which does not quite
satisfy me.
Theaet* What was it ?
Soc, What might seem to be the most ingenious notion of The theory
all:— That the elements or letters are unknown, but the J^^J?^^
combination or syllables known. ments are
Theaet And was that wrong ? unknown,
° but that the
Soc, We shall soon know ; for we have as hostages the combina-
instances which the author of the argument himself used. tionof them
T'f i^Ti 1 •x IS known.
Theaet What hostages ? Can this be
Soc, The letters, which are the elements; and the syllables, ^^^e?
which are the combinations ; — he reasoned, did he not, from
the letters of the alphabet ?
203 Theaet Yes ; he did.
Soc. Let us take them and put them to the test, or We are. at
rather, test ourselves : — What was the way in which we J^htTn'say-
learned letters? and, first of all, are we right in saying ing that the
that syllables have a definition, but that letters have no ^^^^
definition ? definition.
Theaet I think so.
Soc. I think so too ; for, suppose that some one asks you
to spell the first syllable of my name : — Theaetetus, he says,
what is SO ?
Digitized by VjOOQIC
270
TheaeUtus,
S0CKATS8,
Thkabtrtus.
But are
they there-
fore un-
known?
If by syl-
lable we
mean the
letters
which com-
pose it.
a roan can-
not know
the syllable
without
knowing
the letters
of it.
But we may
mean some-
thing over
The analogy of a syllable and its letters.
TheaeU I should reply S and O.
Soc, That is the definition which you would give of the
syllable ?
Theaet I should.
Sac. I wish that you would give me a similar definition of
the S.
Theaet, But how can any one, Socrates, tell the elements
of an element? I can only reply, that S is a consonant,
a mere noise, as of the tongue hissing ; B, and most other
letters, again, are neither vowel-sounds nor noises. Thus
letters may be most truly said to be undefined ; for even the
most distinct of them, which are the seven vowels, have
a sound only, but no definition at all.
Sac, Then, I suppose, my friend, that we have been so far
right in our idea about knowledge ?
Theaet Yes ; I think that we have.
Sac. Well, but have we been right in maintaining that the
syllables can be known, but not the letters ?
Theaet. I think so.
Sac. And do we mean by a syllable two letters, or if there
are more, all of them, or a single idea which arises out of the
combination of them ?
Theaet, I should say that we mean all the letters.
Sac. Take the case of the two letters S and O, which form
the first syllable of my own name ; must not he who knows
the syllable, know both of them ?
Theaet, Certainly.
Sac, He knows, that is, the S and O ?
Theaet, Yes.
Sac. But can he be ignorant of either singly and yet know
both together ?
Theaet, Such a supposition, Socrates, is monstrous and
unmeaning.
Sac, But if he cannot know both without knowing each,
then if he is ever to know the syllable, he must know the
letters first ; and thus the fine theory has again taken wings
and departed.
Theaet, Yes, with wonderful celerity.
Sac, Yes, we did not keep watch properly. Perhaps we
ought to have maintained that a syllable is not the letters,
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Is a syllable more than the letters which compose it? 271
but rather one single idea framed out of them, having a Theaeutus.
separate form distinct from them. Socrates,
Theaet Very true; and a more likely notion than the Thbabtbtus.
other. a°d above
Sac, Take care ; let us not be cowards and betray a great ^hich is in-
and imposing theory. divisible.
204 Theaet No, indeed.
Soc. Let us assume then, as we now say, that the syllable
is a simple form arising out of the several combinations of
harmonious elements — of letters or of any other elements.
Theaet, Very good.
Sac, And it must have no parts.
Theaet. Why?
Sac, Because that which has parts must be a whole of all
the parts. Or would you say that a whole, although formed
out of the parts, is a single notion different from all the
parts?
Theaet, I should.
Soc, And would you say that all and the whole are the Thisim-
same, or different ? f^^ ^}
T-f T . . t.t the whole
Theaet, I am not certain ; but, as you like me to answer at diflfers from
once, I shall hazard the reply, that they are different. ^® ^•
Soc, I approve of your readiness, Theaetetus, but I must
take time to think whether I equally approve of your answer.
Theaet, Yes ; the answer is the point.
Soc, According to this new view, the whole is supposed to
differ from all?
Theaet, Yes.
Soc, Well, but is there any difference between all [in the But aU in
plural] and the all [in the singular] ? Take the case of ^^^3^^
number : — When we say one, two, three, four, five, six ; or differ from
when we say twice three, or three times two, or four and two, ^J^^^
or three and two and one, are we speaking of the same or of all of 6=aii
different numbers ? ^ •
Theaet, Of the same.
Soc, That is of six ?
Theaet, Yes.
Soc, And in each form of expression we spoke of all the
six?
Theaet, True.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
272 All and the all.
Theaitetus. Soc. Again, in speaking of all [in the plural J, is there not
SocKATEs, one thing which we express' ?
theaetbtus. Tkeaet Of course there is.
Soc. And that is six ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. Then in predicating the word ' all * of things measured
by number, we predicate at the same time a singular and a
plural ?
Theaet. Clearly we do.
Soc. Again, the Yiumber of the acre and the acre are the
same ; are they not ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. And the number of the stadium in like manner is the
stadium ?
Theaet. Yes.
Soc. And the army is the number of the army ; and in
all similar cases, the entire number of anything is the entire
thing?
Theaet. True.
Soc, And the number of each is the parts of each ?
Theaet. Exactly.
Soc. Then as many things as have parts are made up of
parts?
Theaet. Clearly,
and there- Soc. But all the parts are admitted to be the all, if the
fore it im- g^jij.^ number is the all ?
plies parts.
Theaet. True.
But the Soc. Then the whole is not made up of parts, for it would
d^^I^''^ be the all, if consisting of all the parts?
from the all. Theaet. That is the inference,
cannot have 5^^^ 3^^ jg a part a part of anything but the whole ?
^^ • Theaet. Yes, of the all.
Soc. You make a valiant defence, Theaetetus. And yet is 205
not the all that of which nothing is wanting?
^^^ Theaet. Certainly.
Soc. And is not a whole likewise that from which nothing
is absent ? but that from which anything is absent is neither
a whole nor all ;— if wanting in anything, both equally lose
their entirety of nature.
' Reading qW &.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
If the syllable is uncompounded^ it must be unknown. 273
Theaet I now think that there is no difference between a Theaetetw,
whole and all. Socratbs,
Soc, But were we not saying that when a thing has parts, thkaetbtus.
all the parts will be a whole and all ? Accord-
TheaeU Certainly. !^bcx^^
Soc. Then, as I was sajdng before, must not the alternative difference
be that either the syllable is not the letters, and then the whoirwid^
letters are not parts of the syllable, or that the syllable theau.
will be the same with the letters, and will therefore be ^hote^^if
equally known with them? distinct
Theaet. You are right. '^^^
Soc. And, in order to avoid this, we suppose it to be cannot have
different from them? these for its
Theaet. Yes. ^"^'^
Soc. But if letters are not parts of syllables, can you tell f nd, since
me of any other parts of syllables, which are not letters ? no^oSier^*
Theaet No, indeed, Socrates ; for if I admit the existence parts, it
of parts in a syllable, it would be ridiculous in me to give up ^^^^
. letters and seek for other parts. - parts aito-
Soc. Quite true, Theaetetus, and therefore, according to p/j^bie^*
our present view, a syllable must surely be some indivisible therefore
form? anuncom-
^, rr> pounded
Theaet, True. element,
Soc. But do you remember, my friend, that only a little andconse-
while ago we admitted and approved the statement, that of unknown,
the first elements out of which all other things are com-
pounded there could be no definition, because each of them
when taken by itself is uncompounded ; nor can one rightly
attribute to them the words 'being* or 'this,* because they
are alien and inappropriate words, and for this reason the
letters or elements were indefinable and unknown ?
Theaet, I remember.
Soc. And is not this also the reason why they are simple
and indivisible ? I can see no other.
Theaet, No other reason can be given.
Soc. Then is not the syllable in the same case as the
elements or letters, if it has no parts and is one form ?
Theaet, To be sure.
Soc, If, then, a syllable is a whole, and has many parts or if thesyi-
letters, the letters as well as the syllable must be intelligible ^^^^^^
VOL. IV. T
Digitized by VjOOQIC
274 The doctrine that elements are unknown refuted.
Theaetetus.
socratbs,
Tmeaetbtus.
letters,
letters and
syllable
miist be
equally in-
telligible.
If it is in-
divisible,
letters and
syllable
must be
equally un-
known. It
is untrue to
say that the
syllables
are known,
but the
letters un-
known.
And in
learning to
read and
play on the
lyre we are
taught the
elements,
which are
the letters
or notes,
first of all.
We said
that know-
ledge is
right
opinion with
rational ex-
planation.
and expressible, since all the parts are acknowledged to be
the same as the whole ?
Theaet, True.
Soc, But if it be one and indivisible, then the syllables and
the letters are alike undefined and unknown, and for the
same reason ?
Theaet, I cannot deny that.
Soc. We cannot, therefore, agree in the opinion of him
who says that the syllable can be known and expressed, but 206
not the letters.
Theaet Certainly not ; if we may trust the argument.
Soc. Well, but will you not be equally inclined to disagree
with him, when you remember your own experience in learn-
ing to read ?
Theaet, What experience ?
Soc, Why, that in learning you were kept trying to distin-
guish the separate letters both by the eye and by the ear, in
order that, when you heard them spoken or saw them written,
you might not be confused by their position.
Theaet, Very true.
Soc, And is the education of the harp-player complete
unless he can tell what string answers to a particular note ;
the notes, as every one would allow, are the elements or
letters of music ?
Theaet, Exactly.
Soc, Then, if we argue from the letters and syllables which
we know to other simples and compounds, we shall say that
the letters or simple elements as a class are much more cer-
tainly known than the syllables, and much more indispensable
to a perfect knowledge of any subject ; and if some one says
that the syllable is known and the letter unknown, we shall
consider that either intentionally or unintentionally he is
talking nonsense ?
Theaet. Exactly.
Soc. And there might be given other proofs of this belief,
if I am not mistaken. But do not let us in looking for them
lose sight of the question before us, which is the meaning of
the statement, that right opinion with rational definition or
explanation is the most perfect form of knowledge.
Theaet, We must not.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Three possible meanings of 'explanation! 275
Soc. Well, and what is the meaning of the term ' explana- Theaetetus,
tion * ? I think that we have a choice of three meanings. sochatbs,
Theaet. What are they ? theaktetus.
Soc, In the first place, the meaning may be, manifesting ^^ ^'^^^ '^
one's thought by the voice with verbs and nouns, imaging u!^?
an opinion in the stream which flows from the lips, as in a (i) The re-
mirror or water. Does not explanation appear to be of this ^^"^^^ ^}
- ^ ^^ . thought in
nature ? speech.-
Theaet. Certainly; he who so manifests his thought, is said ^^ ^^ '^
« . 1 . I/. not peculiar
to explain himself. to ^^
Soc. And every one who is not born deaf or dumb is able who know,
sooner or later to manifest what he thinks of anything ; and
if so, all those who have a right opinion about anything will
also have right explanation ; nor will right opinion be any-
where found to exist apart from knowledge.
Theaet True.
Soc. Let us not, therefore, hastily charge him who gave (a) The
this account of knowledge with uttering an unmeaning word ; JJ^n^^'g
for perhaps he only intended to say, that when a person was paj^ofa
207 asked what was the nature of anything, he should be able to ^"^*
answer his questioner by giving the elements of the thing.
Theaet, As for example, Socrates . . . ?
Soc. As, for example, when Hesiod says that a waggon is
made up of a hundred planks. Now, neither you nor I could
describe all of them individually; but if any one asked what
is a waggon, we should be content to answer, that a waggon
consists of wheels, axle, body, rims, yoke.
Theaet. Certainly.
Soc, And our opponent will probably laugh at us, just as
he would if we professed to be grammarians and to give a
grammatical account of the name of Theaetetus, and yet could
only tell the syllables and not the letters of your name— that
would be true opinion, and not knowledge ; for knowledge,
as has been already remarked, is not attained until, combined
with true opinion, there is an enumeration of the elements out
of which anything is composed.
Theaet, Yes.
Soc. In the same general way, we might also have true
opinion about a waggon; but he who can describe its
essence by an enumeration of the hundred planks, adds
T 2
Digitized by VjOOQIC
276 The two first meanings rejected.
Theoitetus, rational explanation to true opinion, and instead of opinion
SoauTM, has art and knowledge of the nature of a waggon, in that he
Theaktetus. attains to the whole through the elements.
Theaet, And do you not agree in that view, Socrates ?
Soc. If you do, my friend ; but I want to know first,
whether you admit the resolution of all things into their
elements to be a rational explanation of them, and the con-
sideration of them in syllables or larger combinations of them
to be irrational — is this your view ?
TheaeL Precisely.
But there Soc. Well, and do you conceive that a man has knowledge
menuion^of ^^ ^^y element who at one time affirms and at another time
parts with- denies that element of something, or thinks that the same
tedVe'*^^' ^hing is composed of different elements at different times ?
Theaet Assuredly not.
Soc, And do you not remember that in your case and in
that of others this often occurred in the process of learning
to read ?
Theaet, You mean that I mistook the letters and misspelt
the syllables ?
Soc. Yes.
Theaet. To be sure ; I perfectly remember, and I am very
far from supposing that they who are in this condition have
knowledge.
Soc. When a person at the time of learning writes the
name of Theaetetus, and thinks that he ought to write and
does write Th and e ; but, again, meaning to write the name 208
of Theodorus,. thinks that he ought to write and does write
T and e — can we suppose that he knows the first syllables
of your two names?
Theaet. We have already admitted that such a one has
not yet attained knowledge.
Soc. And in like manner he may enumerate without know-
ing them the second and third and fourth syllables of your
name?
Theaet. He may.
Soc. And in that case, when he knows the order of the
letters and can write them out correctly, he has right
opinion ?
Theaet, Clearly.
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The third— ^ True opinion with a mark of difference! 277
Soc. But although we admit that he has right opinion, he Theaetetus,
will still be without knowledge ? Socbatm.
Theaet. Yes. thmt.tus.
Sac. And yet he will have explanation, as well as right Thb is right
opinion, for he knew the order of the letters when he wrote ; oniy!^*^
and this we admit to be explanation.
Theaet True.
Soc. Then, my friend, there is such a thing as right
opinion united with definition or explanation, which does
not as yet attain to the exactness of knowledge.
Theaet. It would seem so.
Soc, And what we fancied to be a perfect definition of
knowledge is a dream only. But perhaps we had better not
say so as yet, for were there not three explanations of know-
ledge, one of which must, as we said, be adopted by him
who maintains knowledge to be true opinion combined with
rational explanation ? And very likely there may be found
some one who will not prefer this but the third.
Theaet You are quite right ; there is still one remaining.
The first was the image or expression of the mind in speech ;
the second, which has just been mentioned, is a way of reach-
ing the whole by an enumeration of the elements. But what
is the third definition ?
Soc* There is, further, the popular notion of telling the (3)/rrae
mark or sign of difference which distinguishes the thing in ^^^^\
question from all others. thing with
Theaet Can you give me any example of such a defini- ^^^/^^^"^
tion ? or sign of
Soc. As, for example, in the case of the sun, I think that difference,
you would be contented with the statement that the sun is
the brightest of the heavenly bodies which revolve about the
earth.
Theaet Certainly.
Soc. Understand why :— the reason is, as I was just now
saying, that if you get at the difference and distinguishing
characteristic of each thing, then, as many persons affirm, you
will get at the definition or explanation of it ; but while you
lay hold only of the common and not of the characteristic
notion, you will only have the definition of those things to
which this common quality belongs.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
278
This again cannot be accepted.
Theaetetus,
Socrates,
Theaetetus.
But right
opinion
already im-
plies a
knowledge
of differ-
TheaeL I understand you, and your account of definition is
in my judgment correct.
Soc, But he, who having right opinion about anything, can
find out the difference which distinguishes it from other
things will know that of which before he had only an opitiion.
Theaet Yes ; that is what we are maintaining.
Soc. Nevertheless, Theaetetus, on a nearer view, I find
myself quite disappointed ; the picture, which at a dis-
tance was not so bad, has now become altogether unin-
telligible.
TheaeL What do you mean ?
Soc. I will endeavour to explain : I will suppose myself to 209
have true opinion of you, and if to this I add your definition,
then I have knowledge, but if not, opinion only.
TheaeL Yes.
Soc. The definition was assumed to be the interpretation
of your difference.
Theaet. True.
Soc. But when I had only opinion, I had no conception of
your distinguishing characteristics.
Theaet. I suppose not.
Soc. Then I must have conceived of some general or com-
mon nature which no more belonged to you than to another.
Theaet. True.
Soc. Tell me, now — How in that case could I have formed
a judgment of you any more than of any one else ? Suppose
that I imagine Theaetetus to be a man who has nose, eyes,
and mouth, and every other member complete ; how would
that enable me to distinguish Theaetetus from Theodorus, or
from some outer barbarian ?
Theaet, How could it?
Soc. Or if I had further conceived of you, not only as
having nose and eyes, but as having a snub nose and pro-
minent eyes, should I have any more notion of you than of
myself and others who resemble me ?
Theaet. Certainly not.
Soc. Surely I can have no conception of Theaetetus until
your snub-nosedness has left an impression on my mind
different from the snub-nosedness of all others whom I have
ever seen, and until your other peculiarities have a like
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We are arguing in a circle, 279
distinctness ; and so when I meet you to-morrow the right Theaetetus,
opinion will be re-called ? Sooutes,
TheaeU Most true. theact«tus.
Soc, Then right opinion implies the perception of differ-
ences ?
Theaet Clearly.
Soc, What, then, shall we say of adding reason or explana-
tion to right opinion? If the meaning is, that we should
form an opinion of the way in which something differs from
another thing, the proposal is ridiculous.
Theaet How so?
Soc, We are supposed to acquire a right opinion of the
differences which distinguish one thing from another when
we have already a right opinion of them, and so we go round
and round;— the revolution of the_ septal, or pestle, or any
other rotatory machine, in the sanie circles, is as notnmg
compared with such a requirement; and we may be truly
described as the blind directing the blind ; for to add those
things which we already have, in order that we may learn
what we already think, is like a soul utterly benighted.
Theaet Tell me ; what were you going to say just now. How
when you asked the question ? t^M be
Soc, If, my boy, the argument, in speaking of adding the to repeat
definition, had used the word to 'know,' and not merely ^^^^^ordwe
' ' ■' are denning
' have an opinion ' of the difference, this which is the most in our de-
promising of all the definitions of knowledge would have finition.and
come to a pretty end, for to know is surely to acquire knowledge
knowledge. jsknow-
210 Theaet True. difference 1
Soc, And so, when the question is asked. What is know-
ledge ? this fair argument will answer ' Right opinion with
knowledge,' — knowledge, that is, of difference, for this, as
the said argument maintains, is adding the definition.
Theaet That seems to be true.
Soc, But how utterly foolish, when we are asking what is
knowledge, that the reply should only be, right opinion with
knowledge of difference or of anything I And so, Theae-
tetus, knowledge is neither sensation nor true opinion, nor
yet definition and explanation accompanying and added to
true opinion ?
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28o
Theaetetus,
Socrates,
Thkaetbtus.
Theaetetus
has brought
forth wind.
But to
know that
they know
nothing
makes men
better and
hiunbler.
A conclusion in which nothing is concluded.
Theaet. I suppose not.
Sac, And are you still in labour and \travail, my dear
friend, or have you brought all that you have~to"say about
knowledge to the birth ?
Theaet I am sure, Socrates, that you have elicited from me
a good deal more than ever was in me.
Sac, And does not my art show that you have brought
forth wind, and that the offspring of your brain are not worth
bringing up ?
Theaet. Very true.
Sac, But if, Theaetetus, you should ever conceive afresh,
you will be all the better for the present investigation, and if
not, you will be soberer and humbler and gentler to other
men, and will be too modest to fancy that you know what
you do not know. These are the limits of my art ; I can no
further go, nor do I know aught of the things which great
and famous men know or have known in this or former ages.
The office of a midwife I, like my mother, have received from
God ; she delivered women, and I deliver men ; but they must
be young and noble and fair.
Socrates is
expecting
his trial (cp.
Euthyph.
subJlK, ;
Meno sub
And now I have to go to the porch of the King Archon,
where I am to meet Meletus and his indictment. To-morrow
morning, Theodorus, I shall hope to see you again at this
place.
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SOPHIST.
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TIOH.
INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.
The dramatic power of the dialogues of Plato appears to diminish Sophist.
as the metaphysical interest of them increases (cp. Introd. to the iMrmoDuc
Philebus). There are no descriptions of time, place or persons,
in the Sophist and Statesman, but we are plunged at once into
philosophical discussions; the poetical charm has disappeared,
and those who have no taste for abstruse metaphysics will greatly
prefer the earlier dialogues to the later ones. Plato is conscious
of the change, and in the Statesman (a86 B) expressly accuses
himself of a tediousness in the two dialogues, which he ascribes
to his desire of developing the dialectical method. On the other
hand, the kindred spirit of Hegel seemed to find in the Sophist
the crown and summit of the Platonic philosophy — here is the
place at which Plato most nearly approaches to the Hegelian
identity of Being and Not-being. Nor will the great importance
of the two dialogues be doubted by any one who forms a concep-
tion of the state of mind and opinion which they are intended to
meet. The sophisms of the day were undermining philosophy ;
the denial of the existence of Not-being, and of the connexion of
ideas, was making truth and falsehood equally impossible. It has
been said that Plato would have written differently, if he had been
acquainted with the Organon of Aristotle. But could the Organon of
Aristotle ever have been written unless the Sophist and Statesman
had preceded? The swarm of fallacies which arose in the infancy
of mental science, and which was born and bred in the decay of
the pre-Socratic philosophies, was not dispelled by Aristotle, but
by Socrates and Plato. The summa genera of thought, the nature
of the proposition, of definition, of generalization, of synthesis and
analysis, of division and cross-division, are clearly described, and
the processes of induction and deduction are constantly employed
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284
Sophist,
Introduc-
tion.
Change in the philosophical sitzmtion.
in the dialogues of Plato. The * slippery * nature of comparison,
the danger of putting words in the place of things, the fallacy of
arguing * a dicto secundum,' and in a circle, are frequently indicated
by him. To all these processes of truth and error, Aristotle, in
the next generation, gave distinctness ; he brought them together
in a separate science. But he is not to be regarded as the original
inventor of any of the great logical forms, with the exception of
the syllogism.
There is Tittle worthy of remark in the characters of the Sophist.
The most noticeable point is the final retirement of Socrates from
the field of argument, and the substitution for him of an Eleatic
stranger, who is described as a pupil of Parmenides and Zeno, and
is supposed to have descended from a higher world in order to
convict the Socratic circle of error. As in the Timaeus, Plato
seems to intimate by the withdrawal of Socrates that he is passing
beyond the limits of his teaching ; and in the Sophist and States-
man, as well as in the Parmenides, he probably means to imply
that he is making a closer approach to the schools of Elea and
Megara. He had much in common with them, but he must first
submit their ideas to criticism and revision. He had once thought
as he says, speaking by the mouth of the Eleatic, that he under-
stood their doctrine of Not-being ; but now he does not even com-
prehend the nature of Being. The friends of ideas (Soph. 248)
are alluded to by him as distant acquaintances, whom he criticizes
ab extra ; we do not recognize at first sight that he is criticizing
himself. The character of the Eleatic stranger is colourless ; he is
to a certain extent the reflection of his father and master, Par-
menides, who is *^^ prntngnpijit '" the dialogue which is called by
his name. Theaetetus himself is not distinguished by the remark-
able traits which are attributed to him in the preceding dialogue.
He is no longer under the spell of Socrates, or subject to the
operation of his midwifery, though the fiction of question and
answer is still maintained, and the necessity of taking Theaetetus
along with him is several times insisted upon by his partner in
the discussion. There is a reminiscence of the old Theaetetus in
his remark that he will not tire of the argument, and in his con-
viction, which the Eleatic thinks likely to be permanent, that the
course of events is governed by the will of God. Throughout the
two dialogues Socrates continues a silent auditor, in the Statesman
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TION.
Difference in style. Double subject of the dialogue. 285
just reminding us of his presence, at the commencement, by a Sophist.
characteristic jest about the statesman and the philosopher, and imtroduc-
by an allusion to his namesake, with whom on that ground he
claims relationship, as he had already claimed an affinity with
Theaetetus, grounded on the likeness of his ugly face. But in
neither dialogue, any more than in the Timaeus, does he offer any
criticism on the views which are propounded by another.
The style, though wanting in dramatic power, — in this respect
resembling the Philebus and the Laws, — is very clear and accurate,
and has several touches of humour and satire. The language is
less fanciful and imaginative than that of the earlier dialogues ;
and there *is more of bitterness, as in the Laws, though traces of
a similar temper may also be observed in the description of the
* great brute ' in the Republic, and in the contrast of the lawyer
and philosopher in the Theaetetus. The following are character-
istic passages : *The ancient philosophers, of whom we may say,
without oflfence, that they went on their way rather regardless of
whether we understood them or not ; * the picture of the material-
ists, or earth-born giants, *who grasped oaks and rocks in their
hands,' and who must be improved before they can be reasoned
with ; and the equally humorous delineation of the friends of
ideas, who defend themselves from a fastness in the invisible
world ; or the comparison of the Sophist to a painter or maker (cp.
Rep. x), and the hunt after him in the rich meadow-lands of youth
and wealth ; or, again, the light and graceful touch with which
the older philosophies are painted (* Ionian and Sicilian muses '),
the comparison of them to mythological tales, and the fear of the
Eleatic that he will be counted a parricide if he ventures to lay
hands on his father Parmenides ; or, once more, the likening of
the Eleatic stranger to a god from heaven.— All these passages,
notwithstanding the decline of the style, retain the impress of the
great master of language. But the equably diffused grace is gone ;
instead of the endless variety of the early dialogues, traces of the
rhythmical monotonous cadence of the Laws begin to appear ; and
already an approach is made to the technical language of Aristotle,
in the frequent use of the words 'essence,* 'power,* 'generation,*
* motion,* * rest,* ' action,* * passion,' and the like.
The Sophist, like the Phaedrus, has a double character, and
unites two enquiries, which are only in a somewhat forced manner
Digitized by VjOOQIC
TION.
286 The ideal Sophist of Plato,
Sophist, connected with each other. The first is the search after the
Introduc- Sophist, the second is the enquiry into the nature of Not-being,
which occupies the middle part of the work. For * Not-being ' is
the hole or division of the dialectical net in which the Sophist
has hidden himself. He is the imaginary impersonation of false
opinion. Yet he denies the possibility of false opinion ; for false-
hood is that which is not, and therefore has no existence. At
length the difficulty is solved ; the answer, in the language of the
Republic, appears * tumbling out at our feet.' Acknowledging that
there is a communion of kinds with kinds, and not merely one
Being or Good having different names, or several isolated ideas or
classes incapable of communion, we discover * Not-being' to be
the other of* Being.' Transferring this to language and thought, we
have no difficulty in apprehending that a proposition may be false
as well as true. The Sophist, drawn out of the shelter which
Cynic and Megarian paradoxes have temporarily afforded him, is
proved to be a dissembler and juggler with words.
The chief points of interest in the dialogue are : (I) the character
attributed to the Sophist : (II) the dialectical method : (III) the
nature of the puzzle about * Not-being : ' (IV) the battle of the
philosophers : (V) the relation of the Sophist to other dialbgues.
I. The Sophist in Plato is the master of the art of illusion ; the
charlatan, the foreigner, the prince of esprits-faux, the hireling
who is not a teacher, and who, from whatever point of view he
is regarded, is the opposite of the true teacher. He is the
*evil one,' the ideal representative of all that Plato most dis-
liked in the moral and intellectual tendencies of his own age;
the adversary of the almost equally ideal Socrates. He seems
to be always growing in the fancy of Plato, now boastful,
now eristic, now clothing himself in rags of philosophy, now
more akin to the rhetorician or lawyer, now haranguing, now
questioning, until the final appearance in the Politicus of his
departing shadow in the disguise of a statesman. We are not
to suppose that Plato intended by such a description to.d£pict-^
Protagoras or Gorgias, or even Thrasymachus, who all turn out to
be * very good sort of people when we know them,' and all of them
part on good terms with Socrates. But he is speaking of a being
as imaginary as the wise man of the Stoics, and whose character
varies in different dialogues. Like mythology, Greek philosophy
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Mr. Grotes view. 287
has a tendency to personify ideas. And the Sophist is not merely Sophist,
a teacher of rhetoric for a fee of one or fifty drachmae (Crat. 384 B), Introduc-
but an ideal of Plato*s in which the falsehood of all mankind is
reflected.
A milder tone is adopted towards the Sophists in a well-known
passage of the Republic (vi. 492), where they are described as the
followers rather than the leaders of the rest of mankind. Plato
ridicules the notion that any individuals can corrupt youth to a
degree worth speaking of in comparison with the greater influence
of public opinion. But there is no real inconsistency between this
and other descriptions of the Sophist which occur in the Platonic
writings. For Plato is not justifying the Sophists in the passage
just quoted, but only representing their power to be contemptible ;
they are to be despised rather than feared, and are no worse than \
the rest of mankind. But a teacher or statesman may be justly \
condemned, who is on a level with mankind when he ought to be |
above them. There is another point of view in which this passage ^
should also be considered. The great enemy of Plato is the world,
not exactly in the theological sense, yet in one not wholly different
—the world as the hater of truth and lover of appearance, occupied
in the pursuit of gain and pleasure rather than of knowledge,
banded together against the few good and wise men, and devoid
of true education. This creature has many heads : rhetoricians,
lawyers, statesmen, poets, sophists. But the Sophist is the Pro-
teus who takes the likeness of all of them ; all other deceivers
have a piece of him in them. And sometimes he is represented
as the corrupter of the world ; and sometimes the world as the
corrupter of him and of itself
Of late years the Sophists have found an enthusiastic defender
in the distinguished historian of Greece. He appears to maintain
(i) that the term * Sophist ' is not the name of a particular class,
and would have been applied indifferently to Socrates and Plato,
as well as to Gorgias and Protagoras ; (2) that the bad sense was
imprinted on the word by the genius of Plato ; (3) that the prin-
cipal Sophists were not the corrupters of youth (for the Athenian
youth were no more corrupted in the age of Demosthenes than in
the age of Pericles), but honourable and estimable persons, who
supplied a training in literature which was generally wanted at
the time. We will briefly consider how far these statements
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288 The term 'Sophist' :
SophUt, appear to be justified by facts : and, i, about the meaning of the
Imttoduc- word there arises an interesting question : —
Many words are used both in a general and a specific sense, and
the two senses are not always clearly distinguished. Sometimes
the generic meaning has been narrowed to the specific, while in
other cases the specific meaning has been enlarged or altered.
Examples of the former class are furnished by some ecclesiastical
terms: apostles, prophets, bishops, elders^catholics. Examples
of the Etttei clasyfnay also be toun^in a similar field : Jesuits,
puritans^ jnethodists, and the Hke. Sometimes the meaning is
both narroweH~and^ enlarged ; and a good or bad sense will subsist
side by side with a neutral one. A curious effect is produced on
the meaning of a word when the very term which is stigmatized
by the world (e.g. Methodists) is adopted by the obnoxious or
derided class ; this tends to define the meaning. Or, ag^dn, the
opposite result is produced, when the world refuses to allow some
sect or body of men the possession of an honourable name which
they have assumed, or applies it to them only in mockery or
irony.
The term * Sophist ' is one of those words of which the meaning
has been both contracted and enlarged. Passages may be quoted
from Herodotus and the tragedians, in which the word is used in
a neutral sense for a contriver or deviser or inventor, without
including any ethical idea of goodness or badness. Poets as well
as philosophers were called Sophists in the fifth century before
Christ. In Plato himself the term is applied in the sense of a
' master in art,' without any bad meaning attaching to it (Symp.
208 C ; Meno 85 B). In the later Greek, again, * sophist ' and
'philosopher* became almost indistinguishable. There was no
reproach conveyed by the word ; the additional association, if any,
was only that of rhetorician or teacher. Philosophy had become
eclecticism and imitation : in the decline of Greek thought there was
no original voice lifted up 'which reached to a thousand years
because of the god.* Hence the two words, like the characters
represented by them, tended to pass into one another. Yet even
here some differences appeared ; for the term * Sophist ' would
hardly have been applied to the greater names, such as Plotinus,
and would have been more often used of a professor of philosophy
in general than of a maintainer of particular tenets.
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TIOM.
not first used by Plato in a bad sense, 289
But the real question is, not whether the word ' Sophist ' has all Sophist,
these senses, but whether there is not also a specific bad sense in ihtioouo
which the term is applied to certain contemporaries of Socrates.
Would an Athenian, as Mr. Grote supposes, in the fifth century
before Christ, have included Socrates and Plato, as well as
Gorgias and Protagoras, under the specific class of Sophists?
To this question we must answer. No : if ever the term is applied
to Socrates and Plato, either the application is made by an enemy
out of mere spite, or the sense in which it is used is neutraL Plato,
Xenophon, Isocrates, Aristotle, all give a bad import to the word ;
and the Sophists are regarded as a separate class in all of them.
And in later Greek literature, the distinction is quite marked
between the succession of philosophers from Thales to Aristotle,
and the Sophists of the age of Socrates, who appeared like
meteors for a short time in different parts of Greece. For the
purposes of comedy, Socrates may have been identified with the
Sophists, and he seems to complain of this in the Apology. But
there is no reason to suppose that Socrates, diflfering by so many
outward marks, would really have been confounded in the mind
of Anytus, or Callicles, or of any intelligent Athenian, with the
splendid foreigners who from time to time visited Athens, or
appeared at the Olympic games. The man of genius, the great
original thinker, the disinterested seeker after truth, the master
of repartee whom no one ever defeated in an argument, was
separated, even in the mind of the vulgar Athenian, by an 'interval
which no geometry can express,* from the balancer of sentences,
the interpreter and reciter of the poets, the divider of the mean-
ings of words, the teacher of rhetoric, the professor of morals and
manners.
2. The use of the term * Sophist ' in the dialogues of Plato also
shows that the bad sense was not affixed by his genius, but
already current. When Protagoras says, * I confess that I am a
Sophist,' he implies that the art which he professes has already
a bad name ; and the words of the young Hippocrates, when with
a blush upon his face which is just seen by the light of dawn he
admits that he is going to be made * a Sophist,' would lose their
point, unless the term had been discredited. There is nothing
surprising in the Sophists having an evil name; that, whether
deserved or not, was a natural consequence of their vocation.
VOL. IV, u
Digitized by VjOOQIC
290 The Sophists were not corrupters of youth.
Sophist. That they were foreigners, that they made fortunes, that they
iNTRoiwc- taught novelties, that they excited the minds of youth, are quite
sufficient reasons to account for the opprobrium which attached to
them. The genius of Plato could not have stamped the word
anew, or have imparted the associations which occur in contem-
porary writers, such as Xenophon and Isocrates. Changes in the
meaning of words can only be made with great difficulty, and not
unless they are supported by a strong current of popular feeling.
There is nothing improbable in supposing that Plato may have
extended and^venomed the meaning, or that he may have done
the Sophists the sametind of disservice with posterity which
Pascal did to the Jesuits. But the bad sense of the word was not
and could not have been invented by him, and is found in his
earlier dialogues, e. g. the Protagoras, as well as in the later.
; 3. There is no ground for disbelieving that the principal Sophists,
Gorgias, Protagoras, Prodicus, Hippias, were good and honourable
men. The notion that they were corrupters of the Athenian
youth has no real foundation, and partly arises out of the use of the
term * Sophist * in modern times. The truth is, that we know Uttle
about them ; and the witness of Plato in their favour is probably
not much more historical than his witness against them. Of that
national decline of genius, unity, political force, which has been
sometimes described as the corruption of youth, the Sophists were
one among many signs ; — in these respects Athens may have
degenerated; but, as Mr. Grote remarks, there is no reason to
suspect any greater moral corruption in the age of Demosthenes
than in the age of Pericles. The Athenian youth were not cor-
rupted in this sense, and therefore the Sophists could not have
corrupted them. It is remarkable, and may be fairly set down to
their credit, that Plato nowhere attributes to them that peculiar
Greek sympathy with youth, which he ascribes to Parmenides,
and which was evidently common in the Socratic circle. Plato
delights to exhibit them in a ludicrous point of view, and to show
them always rather at a disadvantage in the company of Socrates.
But he has no quarrel with their characters, and does not deny
that they are respectable men.
The Sophist, in the dialogue which is called after him, is
exhibited in many different lights, and appears and reappears
in a variety of forms. There is some want of the higher Platonic
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The Sophist appears and reappears in many forms. 291
art in the Eleatic Stranger eliciting his true character by a Sophist,
laborious process of enquiry, when he had already admitted that intkoduc-
he knew quite well the difference between the Sophist and the
Philosopher, and had often heard the question discussed ; — such
an anticipation would hardly have occurred in the earlier dia-
logues. But Plato could not altogether give up his Socratic
method, of which another trace may be thought to be discerned in
his adoption of a common instance before he proceeds to the
greater matter in hand. Yet the example is also chosen in order
to damage the * hooker of men * as much as possible ; each step in
the pedigree of the angler suggests some injurious reflection
about the Sophist. They are both hunters after a living prey,
nearly related to tyrants and thieves, and the Sophist is the cousin
of the parasite and flatterer. The eflfect of thb is heightened by
the accidental manner in which the discovery is made, as the
result of a scientific division. His descent in another branch
affords the opportunity of more * unsavoury comparisons.' For he
is a retail trader, and his wares are either imported or home-
made, like those of other retail traders ; his art is thus deprived of
the character of a liberal profession. But the most distinguishing
characteristic of him is, that he is a disputant, and higgles over an
argument. A feature of the Eristic here seems to blend with
Plato's usual description of the Sophists, who in the early dia-
logues, and in the Republic, are frequently depicted as endeavour-
ing to save themselves from disputing with Socrates by making
long orations. In this character he parts company from the vain
and impertinent talker in private life, who is a loser of money,
while he is a maker of it.
But there is another general division under which his art may
be also supposed to fall, and that is purification ; and from purifi-
cation is descended education, and the new principle of education
is to interrogate men after the manner of Socrates, and make
them teach themselves. Here again we catch a glimpse rather of
a Socratic or Eristic than of a Sophist in the ordinary sense of the
term. And Plato does not on this ground reject the claim of
the Sophist to be the true philosopher. One more feature of the
Eristic rather than of the Sophist is the tendency of the trouble-
some animal to run away into the darkness of Not-being. Upon
the whole, we detect in him a sort of hybrid or double nature, of
u 2
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TIOM.
292 The value of the logical ^ abscissio infiniti!
Sophist, which, except perhaps in the Euthydemus of Plato, we find no
Imtroouc- other trace in Greek philosophy; he combines the teacher of
virtue with the Eristic ; while in his omniscience^ his ignorance
of himself, in his arts of deception, andm his lawyer-like habit of
writing and sp>eaking about all things, he is still the antithesis
of Socrates and of the true teacher.
II. The question has been asked, whether the method of ' ab-
scissio infiniti,' by which the Sophist is taken, is a real and
valuable logical process. Modem science feels that this, like
other processes of formal logic, presents a very inadequate con-
ception of the actual complex procedure of the mind by which
scientific truth is detected and verified. Plato himself seems to
be aware that mere division is an unsafe and uncertain weapon,
first, in the Statesman, when he says that we should divide in the
middle, for in that way we are more likely to attain species;
secondly, in the parallel precept of the Philebus, that we should
not pass from the most general notions to infinity, but include
all the intervening middle principles, until, as he also says in
the Statesman, we arrive at the^infima species; thirdly, in the
Phaedrus, when he says that the dialectician will carve the limbs
of truth without mangling them ; and once more in the Statesman,
if we cannot bisect species, we must carve them as well as we
can. No better image of nature or truth, as an organic whole, can
be conceived than this. So far is Plato from supposing that mere
division and subdivision of general notions will guide men into all
truth.
Plato does not really mean to say that the Sophist or the
Statesman can be caught in this way. But these divisions and
subdivisions were favourite logical exercises of the age in which
he lived ; and while indulging his dialectical fancy, and making a
contribution to logical method, he delights also to transfix the
Eristic Sophist with weapons borrowed from his own armoury.
As we have already seen, the division gives him the opportunity
of making the most damaging refiections on the Sophist and all
his kith and kin, and to exhibit him in the most discreditable
light.
Nor need we seriously consider whether Plato was right in
assuming that an animal so various could not be confined within
the limits of a single definition. In the infancy of logic, men sought
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The puzzle of Not-being. 293
only to obtain a definition of an unknown or uncertain term ; Sophist.
the after reflection scarcely occurred to them that the word might Iwtroduc-
have several senses, which shaded off into one another, and were
not capable of being comprehended in a single notion. There is
no trace of this reflection in Plato. But neither is there any
reason to think, even if the reflection had occurred to him, that he
would have been deterred from carrying on the war with weapons
fair or unfair against the outlaw Sophist.
III. The puzzle about * Not-being* appears to us to be one of
the most unreal difficulties of ancient philosophy. We cannot
understand the attitude of mind which could imagine that false-
hood had no existence, if reality was denied to Not-being : How
could such a question arise at all, much less become of serious
importance? The answer to this, and to nearly all other diffi-
culties of early Greek philosophy, is to be sought for in the
history of ideas, and the answer is only unsatisfactory because
our knowledge is defective. In the passage from the world of
sense and imagination and common language to that of opinion
and reflection the human mind was exposed to many dangers,
and often
* Found no end in wandering mazes lost.'
On the other hand, the discovery of abstractions was the great
source of all mental improvement in after ages. It was the push-
ing aside of the old, the revelation of the new. But each one of
the company of abstractions, if we may speak in the metaphorical
language of Plato, became in turn the tyrant of the mind, the
dominant idea, which would allow no other to have a share in the
throne. This is especially true of the Eleatic philosophy : while
the absoluteness of Being was asserted in every form of language,
the sensible world and all the phenomena of experience were
comprehended under Not-being. Nor was any difficulty or per-
plexity thus created, so long as the mind, lost in the contemplation
of Being, asked no more questions, and never thought of applying
the categories of Being or Not-being to mind or opinion or
practical life.
But the negative as well as the positive idea had sunk deep
into the intellect of man. The effect of the paradoxes of Zeno
extended far beyond the Eleatic circle. And now an unforeseen
consequence began to arise. If the Many were not, if all things
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now.
294 Falsehood and negation.
Sophist, were names of the One, and nothing could be predicated of any
TRODuc- other thing, how could truth be distinguished from falsehood?
The Eleatic philosopher would have replied that Being is alone
true. But mankind had got beyond his barren abstractions:
they were beginning to analyze, to classify, to define, to ask
what is the nature of knowledge, opinion, sensation. Still less
could they be content with the description which Achilles gives
in Homerof the man whom his soul ^ates —
For their difficulty was not a practical but a metaphysical one ;
and their conception of falsehood was really impaired and
weakened by a metaphysical illusion.
The strength of the illusion seems to lie in the alternative : If
we once admit the existence of Being and Not-being, as two
spheres which exclude each other, no Being or reality can be
ascribed to Not-being, and therefore not to falsehood, which is
the image or expression of Not-being. Falsehood is wholly false ;
and to speak of true falsehood, as Theaetetus does (Theaet. 189 C),
is a contradiction in terms. The fallacy to us is ridiculous and
transparent,— no better than those which Plato satirizes in the
Euthydemus. It is a confusion of falsehood and negation, from
which Plato himself is not entirely free. Instead of saying, * This
is not in accordance with facts,* * This is proved by experience to
be false,' and from such examples forming a general notion of
falsehood, the mind of the Greek thinker was lost in the mazes of
the Eleatic philosophy. And the greater importance which Plato
attributes to this fallacy, compared with others, is due to the
influence which the Eleatic philosophy exerted over him. He
sees clearly to a certain extent; but he has not yet attained a
complete mastery over the ideas of his predecessors— they are
still ends to him, and not mere instruments of thought. They are
too rough-hewn to be harmonized in a single structure, and may
be compared to rocks which project or overhang in some ancient
city's walls. There are many such imperfect syncretisms or
eclecticisms in the history of philosophy. A modern philosopher,
though emancipated from scholastic notions of essence or sub-
stance, might still be seriously affected by the abstract idea of
necessity ; or though accustomed, like Bacon, to criticize abstract
notions, might not extend his criticism to the syllogism.
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Not'being is only relation. 295
The saying or thinking the thing that is not, would be the Sophist,
popular definition of falsehood or error. If we were met by the iNTRootic.
Sophist's objection, the reply would probably be an appeal to
experience. Ten thousands, as Homer would say (ftoXa fivpioi),
tell falsehoods and fall into errors. And this is Plato's reply, both
in the Cratylus (439 D) and Sophist. *Theaetetus is flying,* is
a sentence in form quite as grammatical as 'Theaetetus is sitting' ;
the difference between the two sentences is, that the one is true
and the other false. But, before making this appeal to common
sense, Plato propounds for our consideration a theory of the
nature of the negative.
The theory is, that Not-being is relation. Not-being is the
other of Being, and has as many kinds as there are differences
in Being. This doctrine is the simple converse of the famous
proposition of Spinoza,— not * Omnis determinatio est negatio,' but
* Omnis negatio est determinatio ' ;— not, All distinction is negation,
but, All negation is distinction. Not-being is the unfolding or
determining of Being, and is a necessary element in all other
things that are. We should be careful to observe, first, that Plato
does not identify Being with Not-being; he has no idea of
progression by antagonism, or of the Hegelian vibration of
moments : he would not have said with Heracleitus, ' All things
are and are not, and become and become not.* Secondly, he has
lost sight altogether of the other sense of Not-being, as the
negative of Being ; although he again and again recognizes the
validity of the law of contradiction. Thirdly, he seems to confuse
falsehood with negation. Nor is he quite consistent in regarding
Not-being as one class of Being, and yet as coextensive with
Being in general. Before analyzing further the topics thus
suggested, we will endeavour to trace the manner in which
Plato arrived at his conception of Not-being.
In all the later dialogues of Plato, the idea of mind or intelli-
gence becomes more and more prominent. That idea which
Anaxagoras employed inconsistently in the construction of the
world, Plato, in the Philebus, the Sophist, and the Laws, extends
to all things, attributing to Providence a care, infinitesimal as well
as infinite, of all creation. The divine mind is the leading religious
thought of the later works of Plato. The human mind is a sort of
reflection of this, having ideas of Being, Sameness, and the like.
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296 Not-being is a new kind of Being,
Sophist, At times they seem to be parted by a great gulf (Parmenides) ; at
lOTnoouc- other times they have a common nature, and the light of a
common mtelligence.
But this ever-growing idea of mind is really irreconcileable
with the abstract Pantheism of the Eleatics. To the passionate
language of Parmenides, Plato replies in a strain equally passion-
ate :— What I has not Being mind ? and is not Being capable of
being known? and, if this is admitted, then capable of being
affected or acted upon?— in motion, then, and yet not wholly
incapable of rest. Already we have been compelled to attribute
opposite determinations to Being. And the answer to the diffi-
culty about Being may be equally the answer to the difficulty
about Not-being.
The answer is, that in these and all other determinations of
any notion we are attributing to it * Not-being.' We went in
search of Not-being and seemed to lose Being, and now in the
hunt after Being we recover both. Not-being is a kind of Being,
and in a sense co-extensive with Being. And there are as many
divisions of Not-being as of Being. To every positive idea— 'just,'
* beautiful,' and the like, there is a corresponding negative idea—
* not-just,* * not-beautiful,' and the like.
A doubt may be raised whether this account of the negative is
really the true one. The common logicians would say that the
'not-just,' 'not-beautiful,' are not really classes at all, but are
merged in one great class of the infinite or negative. The con-
ception of Plato, in the days before logic, seems to be more
correct than this. For the word *not' does not altogether
annihilate the positive meaning of the word *just': at least, it
does not prevent our looking for the * not-just' in or about the
same class in which we might expect to find the 'just.' * Not-
just is not-honourable' is neither a false nor an unmeaning
proposition. The reason is that the negative proposition has
really passed into an undefined positive. To say that * not-just'
has no more meaning than 'not-honourable*— that is to say, that
the two cannot in any degree be distinguished, is clearly repug-
nant to the common use of language.
The ordinary logic is also jealous of the explanation of negation
as relation, because seeming to take away the principle of contra-
diction. Plato, as far as we know, is the first philosopher who
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TIOM.
Not-being is difference. 297
distinctly enunciated this principle; and though we need not Sophist,
suppose him to have been always consistent with himself, there is Ikthoduc.
no real inconsistency between his explanation of the negative and
the principle of contradiction. Neither the Platonic notion of the
negative as the principle of difference, nor the Hegelian identity of
Being and Not-being, at all touch the principle of contradiction.
For what is asserted about Being and Not-Being only relates to
our most abstract notions, and in no way interferes with the
principle of contradiction employed in the concrete. Because
Not-being is identified with Other, or Being with Not-being, this
does not make the proposition * Some have not eaten ' any the less
a contradiction of * All have eaten.'
The explanation of the negative given by Plato in the Sophist is
a true but partial one ; for the word * not,* besides the meaning of
* other,' may also imply * opposition.* And difference or opposition
may be either total or partial ; the not-beautiful may be other than
the beautiful, or in no relation to the beautiful, or a specific class
in various degrees opposed to the beautiful. And the negative
may be a negation of fact or of thought (ov and fi^). Lastly, there
are certain ideas, such as 'beginning,* 'becoming,' *the finite,'
* the abstract,* in which the negative cannot be separated from the
positive, and * Being ' and * Not-being * are inextricably blended.
Plato restricts the conception of Not-being to difference. Man
is a rational animal, and is not— as many other things as are not
included under this definition. He is and is not, and is because
he is not Besides the positive class to which he belongs, there
are endless negative classes to which he may be referred. This is
certainly intelligible, but useless. To refer a subject to a negative
class is unmeaning, unless the ' not ' is a mere modification of the
positive, as in the example of * not honourable * and * dishonour-
able * ; or unless the class is characterized by the absence rather
than the presence of a particular quality..
Nor is it easy to see how Not-being any more than Sameness or
Otherness is one of the classes of Being. They are aspects rather
than classes of Being. Not-being can only be included in Being,
as the denial of some particular class of Being. If we attempt to
pursue such airy phantoms at all, the Hegelian identity of Being
and Not-being is a more apt and intelligible expression of the same
mental phenomenon. For Plato has not distinguished between
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298 The communion of classes Plato s greatest discovery.
Sophist, the Being which is prior to Not-being, and the Being which is the
Imtroduc. negation of Not-being (cf. Parm. 162 A, B).
But he is not thinking of this when he says that Being compre-
hends Not-being. Again, we should probably go back for the true
explanation to the influence which the Eleatic philosophy exer-
cised over him. Under 'Not-being* the Eleatic had included all
the realities of the sensible world. Led by this association and by
the common use of language, which has been already noticed, we
cannot be much surprised that Plato should have made classes of
Not-being. It is observable that he does not absolutely deny that
there is an opposite of Being. He is mclined to leave the question,
merely remarking that the opposition, if admissible at all, is not
expressed by the term * Not-being.'
On the whole, we must allow that the great service rendered by
Plato to metaphysics in the Sophist, is not his explanation of * Not-
being* as difference. With this he certainly laid the ghost of
* Not-being'; and we may attribute to him in a measure the
credit of anticipating Spinoza and Hegel. But his conception is
not clear or consistent ; he does not recognize the different senses
of the negative, and he confuses the different classes of Not-being
with the abstract notion. As the Pre-Socratic philosopher failed
to distinguish between the universal and the true, while he placed
the particulars of sense under the false and apparent, so Plato
appears to identify negation with falsehood, or is unable to
distinguish them. The greatest service rendered by him to
mental science is the recognition of the communion of classes,
which, although based by him on his account of * Not-being,* is
independent of it. He clearly saw that the isolation of ideas
or classes is the annihilation of reasoning. Thus, after wandering
in many diverging paths, we return to common sense. And
for this reason we may be inclined to do less than justice to
Plato,— because the truth which he attains by a real effort of
thought is to us a familiar and unconscious truism, which no one
would any longer think either of doubting or examining.
IV. The later dialogues of Plato contain many references to
contemporary philosophy. Both in the Theaetetus and in the
Sophist he recognizes that he is in the midst of a fray ; a huge
irregular battle everywhere surrounds him (Theaet. 153 A).
First, there are the two great philosophies going back into
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now.
Plato s 'History of Philosophy! 299
cosmogony and poetry : the philosophy of Heracleitus, supposed Sophist
to have a poetical origin in Homer, and that of the Eleatics, Intkoduc-
which in a similar spirit he conceives to be even older than
Xenophanes (compare Protag. 316 E). Still older were theories
of two and three principles, hot and cold, moist and dry, which
were ever marrying and being given in marriage: in speaking
of these, he is probably referring to Pherecydes and the early
lonians. In the philosophy of motion there were different
accounts of the relation of plurality and unity, which were sup-
posed to be joined and severed by love and hate, some main-
taining that this process was p>erpetually going on (e. g. Hera-
cleitus) ; others (e. g. Empedocles) that there was an alternation
of them. Of the Pythagoreans or of Anaxagoras he makes no
distinct mention. His chief opponents are, first. Eristics or
Megarians ; secondly, the Materialists.
The picture which he gives of both these latter schools is
indistinct; and he appears reluctant to mention the names of
their teachers. Nor can we easily determine how much is to
be assigned to the Cynics, how much to the Megarians, or
whether the ' repellent Materialists * (Theaet. 156 A) are Cynics
or Atomists, or represent some unknown phase of opinion at
Athens. To the Cynics and Antisthenes is commonly attributed,
on the authority of Aristotle, the denial of predication, while the
Megarians are said to have been Nommalists, asserting the One
Good under many names to be the true Being of Zeno and
the Eleatics, and, like Zeno, employing their negative dialectic in
the refutation of opponents. But the later Megarians also denied
predication ; and this tenet, which is attributed to all of them
by Simplicius, is certainly in accordance with their over-refining
philosophy. The * tyros young and old,* of whom Plato speaks
(infra 251 B), probably include both. At any rate, we shall
be safer in accepting the general description of them which
he has given, and in not attempting to draw a precise line
between them.
Of these Eristics, whether Cynics or Megarians, several
characteristics are found in Plato :—
I. They pursue verbal oppositions ; 2. they make reasoning
impossible by their over-accuracy in the use of language;
3. they deny predication ; 4. they go from unity to plurality.
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TIOM.
300 Idealists and materialists.
Sophist, without passing through the intermediate stages ; 5. they refuse
Imttoduc- to attribute motion or power to Being ; 6. they are the enemies
of sense ;— whether they are the * friends of ideas/ who carry
on the polemic against sense, is uncertain ; probably under
this remarkable expression Plato designates those who more
nearly approached himself, and may be criticizing an earlier
form of his own doctrines. We may observe (i) that he professes
only to give us a few opinions out of many which were at
that time current in Greece; (2) that he nowhere alludes to
the ethical teaching of the C)mics — unless the argument in the
Protagoras, that the virtues are one and not many, may be
supposed to contain a reference to their views, as well as to
those of Socrates ; and unless they are the school alluded to in
the Philebus, which is described as * being very skilful in physics,
and as maintaining pleasure to be the absence of pain/ That
Antisthenes wrote a book called * Physicus,* is hardly a sufficient
reason for describing them as skilful in physics, which appear to
have been very alien to the tendency of the Cynics.
The Idealism of the fourth century before Christ in Greece,
as in other ages and countries, seems to have provoked a re-
action towards Materialism. The maintainers of this doctrine
are described in the Theaetetus as obstinate persons who will
believe in nothing which they cannot hold in their hands, and in
the Sophist (246 D) as incapable of argument. They are pro-
bably the same who are said in the Tenth Book of the Laws
(888 E) to attribute the course of events to nature, art, and chance.
Who they were, we have no means of determining except from
Plato's description of them. His silence respecting the Atomists
might lead us to suppose that here we have a trace of them.
But the Atomists were not Materialists in the grosser sense
of the term, nor were they incapable of reasoning ; and Plato
would hardly have described a great genius like Democritus in
the disdainful terms which he uses of the Materialists. Upon the
whole, we must infer that the persons here spoken of are un-
known to us, like the many other writers and talkers at Athens
and elsewhere, of whose endless activity of mind Aristotle in
his Metaphysics has preserved an anonymous memorial.
V. The Sophist is the sequel^ of the Theaetetus, and is con-
nected with the Parmenides by a direct allusion (cp. Introductions
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Analysts 216-218.
301
to Theaetetus and Parmenides). In the Theaetetus we sought to
discover the nature of knowledge and false opinion. But the
nature of false opinion seemed impenetrable ; for we were
unable to understand how there could be any reality in Not-
being. In the Sophist the question is taken up again ; the nature
of Not-being is detected, and there is no longer any metaphysical
impediment in the way of admitting the possibility of falsehood.
To the Parmenides, the Sophist stands in a less defined and
more remote relation. There human thought is in process of
disorganization ; no absurdity or inconsistency is too great to
be elicited from the analysis of the simple ideas of Unity or
Being. In the Sophist the same contradictions are pursued
to a certain extent, but only with a view to their resolution. The
aim of the dialogue is to show how the few elemental concep-
tions of the human mind admit of a natural connexion in thought
and speech, which Megarian or other sophistry vainly attempts
to deny.
Sophist.
Iktkoduc-
TIOM.
Steph.
216
True to the appointment of the previous day, Theodorus and Analysis.
Theaetetus meet Socrates at the same spot, bringing with them
an Eleatic Stranger, whom Theodorus introduces as a true philo-
sopher. Socrates, half in jest, half in earnest, declares that
he must be a god in disguise, who, as Homer would say, has
come to earth that he may visit the good and evil among men,
and detect the foolishness of Athenian wisdom. At any rate
he is a divine person, one of a class who are hardly recognized on
earth ; who appear in divers forms — now as statesmen, now as
sophists, and are often deemed madmen. * Philosopher, states-
man, sophist,* says Socrates, repeating the words — * I should like
217 to ask our Eleatic friend what his countrymen think of them ; do
they regard them as one, or three ? '
The Stranger has been already asked the same question by
Theodorus and Theaetetus ; and he at once replies that they are
thought to be three; but to explain the difference fully would
take time. He is pressed to give this fuller explanation, either
in the form of a speech or of question and answer. He prefers
the latter, and chooses as his respondent Theaetetus, whom he
218 already knows, and who is recommended to him by Socrates.
We are agreed, he says, about the name Sophist, but we may
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302
Analysts 218-223.
Sophist, not be equally agreed about his nature. Great subjects should
Analysis, be approached through familiar examples, and, considering that
he is a creature not easily caught, I think that, before ap-
proaching him, we should try our hand upon some more obvious
animal, who may be made the subject of logical experiment ; shall
we say an anglgjiL * Very good.* 219
In the first place, the angler is an artist ; and there are two
kinds of art,— productive art, which includes husbandry, manu-
factures, imitations ; and ^quisitr^e art, which includes learning,
trading, fighting, hunting. The angler's is an acquisitive art, and
acquisition may be effected either by exchange or by conquest ;
in the latter case, either by force or craft. Conquest by craft is
called hunting, and of hunting there is one kind which pursues 220
inanimate, and another which pursues animate objects; and
animate objects may be either land animals or water animals,
and water animals either fly over the water or live in the water.
The hunting of the last is called fishing; and of fishing, one
kind uses enclosures, catching the fish in nets and baskets, and
another kind strikes them either with spears by night or with
barbed spears or barbed hooks by day ; the barbed spears are
impelled from above, the barbed hooks are jerked into the head
and lips of the fish, which are then drawn from below upwards. 221
Thus, by a series of divisions, we have arrived at the definition of
the angler's art.
And now by the help of this example we may proceed to bring
to light the nature of the Sophist. Like the angler, he is an artist,
and the resemblance does not end here. For they are both
hunters, and hunters of animals ; the one of water, and the other 222
of land animals. But at this point they diverge, the one going to
the sea and the rivers, and the other to the rivers of wealth and
rich meadow-lands, in which generous youth abide. On land
you may hunt tame animals, or you may hunt wild animals. And
man is a tame animal, and he may be hunted either by force or
persuasion ;— either by the pirate, man-stealer, soldier, or by the
lawyer, orator, talker. The latter use persuasion, and per-
suasion is either private or public. Of the private practitioners
of the art, some bring gifts to those whom they hunt : these are
lovers. And others take hire ; and some of these flatter, and in 223
return are fed ; others profess to teach virtue and receive a round
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Analysts 223-227. 303
sum. And who are these last? Tell me who? Have we not Sophist,
unearthed the Sophist ? Analysis.
But he is a many-sided creature, and may still be traced in
another line of descent. The acquisitive art had a branch of
exchange as well as of hunting, and exchange is either giving or
selling; and the seller is either a manufacturer or a merchant;
224 and the merchant either retails or exports ; and the exporter
may export either food for the body or food for the mind. And
of this trading in food for the mind, one kind may be termed the
art of display, and another the art of selling learning ; and learning
may be a learning of the arts or of virtue. The seller of the arts
may be called an art-seller; the seller of virtue, a Sophist.
Again, there is a third line, in which a Sophist may be traced.
For is he less a Sophist when, instead of exporting his wares to
another country, he stays at home, and retails goods, which he
not only buys of others, but manufactures himself?
225 Or he may be descended from the acquisitive art in the comba-
tive line, through the pugnacious, the controversial, the disputa-
tious arts ; and he will be found at last in the eristic section of the
226 latter, and in that division of it which disputes in private for gain
about the general principles of right and wrong.
And still there is a track of him which has not yet been
followed out by us. Do not our household servants talk of
sifting, straining, winnowing ? And they also speak of carding,
spinning, and the like. All these are processes of division ; and
of division there are two kind$,— one in which like is divided from
like, and another in which the good is separated from the bad.
The latter of the two is termed purification ; and again, of puri-
227 fication, there are two sorts,— of animate bodies (which may be
internal or external), and of inanimate. Medicine and gymnastic
are the internal purifications of the animate, and bathing the
external ; and of the inanimate, fulling and cleaning and other
humble processes, some of which have ludicrous names. Not
that dialectic is a respecter of names or persons, or a despiser
of humble occupations ; nor does she think much of the greater
or less benefits conferred by them. For her aim is knowledge ;
she wants to know how the arts are related to one another, and
would quite as soon learn the nature of hunting from the vermin-
destroyer as from the general. And she only desires to have
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304 Analysts 227-231.
SophUt, a general name, which shall distinguish purifications of the soul
Analysis, from purifications of the body.
Now purification is the taking away of evil ; and there are two
kinds of evil in the soul, — ^the one answering to disease in the 228
body, and the other to deformity. Disease is the discord or war
of opposite principles in the soul ; and deformity is the want of
symmetry, or failure in the attainment of a mark or measure.
The latter arises from ignorance, and no one is voluntarily
ignorant; ignorance is only the aberration of the soul moving
towards knowledge. And as medicine cures the diseases and
gymnastic the deformity of the body, so correction cures the in- 229
justice, and education (which differs among the Hellenes from
mere instruction in the arts) cures the ignorance of the soul.
Again, ignorance is twofold, simple ignorance, and ignorance
having the conceit of knowledge. And education is also twofold :
there is the old-fashioned moral training of our forefathers, which
was very troublesome and not very successful; and another, of 230
a more subtle nature, which proceeds upon a notion that all
ignorance is involuntary. The latter convicts a man out of his
own mouth, by pointing out to him his inconsistencies and con-
tradictions ; and the consequence is that he quarrels with himself,
instead of quarrelling with his neighbours, and is cured of preju-
dices and obstructions by a mode of treatment which is equally
entertaining and effectual. The physician of the soul is aware
that his patient will receive no nourishment unless he has been
cleaned out ; and the soul of the Great King himself, if he has
not undergone this purification, is unclean and impure.
And who are the ministers of the purification ? Sophists I may 231
not call them. Yet they bear about the same likeness to Sophists
as the dog, who is the gentlest of animals, does to the wolf, who
is the fiercest. Comparisons are slippery things ; but for the
present let us assume the resemblance of the two, which may
probably be disallowed hereafter. And so, from division comes
purification ; and from this, mental purification ; and from mental
purification, instruction; and from instruction, education; and
from education, the nobly-descended art of Sophistry, which is
engaged in the detection of conceit. I do not however think that
we have yet found the Sophist, or that his will ultimately prove
to be the desired art of education ; but neither do I think that he
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Analysts 23I-235, 305
can long escape me, for every way is blocked. Before we make Sophist,
the final assault, let us take breath, and reckon up the many amalyim.
forms which he has assimied: (i) he was the paid hunter oi
wealth and birth ; (2) he was the trader in the goods of the soul ;
(3) he was the retailer of them ; (4) he was the manufacturer of
his own learned wares ; (5) he was the disputant; and (6) he was
the purger away of prejudices — although this latter point is
admitted to be doubtful.
232 Now, there must surely be something wrong in the professor of
any art having so many names and kinds of knowledge. Does
not the very niunber of them imply that the nature of his art is
not understood ? And that we may not be involved in the mis-
understanding, let us observe which of his characteristics is the
most prominent. Above all things he is a disputant. He will
dispute and teach others to dispute about things visible and in-
visible— ^about man, about the gods, about politics, about law,
about wrestling, about all things. But can he know all things?
333 * He cannot.' How then can he dispute satisfactorily with any one
who knows? 'Impossible.' Then what is the trick of his art,
and why does he receive money from his admirers ? * Because he
is believed by them to know all things.' You mean to say that
he seems to have a kno^edge of them ? * Yes.'
Suppose a person were to say, not that he would dispute about
all things, but that he would make all things, you and me, and all
other creatures, the earth and the heavens and the gods, and
234 would sell them all for a few pence— this would be a great jest ;
but not greater than if he said that he knew all things, and could
teach them in a short time, and at a small cost. For all imitation
is a jest, and the most graceful form of jest Now the painter is
a man who professes to make all things, and children, who see his
pictures at a distance, sometimes take them for realities : and the
Sophist pretends to know all things, and he, too, can deceive
young men, who are still at a distance from the truth, not through
their eyes, but through their ears, by the mummcQUpf words,
and induce them to believe him. But as they grow older, and come
into contact with realities, they learn by experience the fijtility of
235 his pretensions. The Sophist, then, has not real knowledge ; he
is only an imitator, or image-maker.
And now, having got him in a comer of the dialectical net, let
VOL. IV. X
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3o6 Analysts 235-24 1«
Spphist. US divide and subdivide until we catch him. Of image-making
A11ALYS19. there are two kinds, — ^the art of making likenesses, and the art of
making appearances. The latter may be illustrated by sculpture 236
and painting, which oflen use illusions, and alter the proportions
of figures, in order to adapt their works to the eye. And the
Sophist also uses illusions, and his imitations are apparent and
not real. But how can any thing be an appearance only? Here
arises a difficulty which has always beset the subject of appear- 237
ances. For the argument is asserting the existence of not-being.
And this is what the great Parmenides was all his life denying in
prose and also in verse. ' You will never find,' he says, ' that not-
being is.' And the words prove themselves I Not-being cannot
be attributed to any being; for how can any being be wholly
abstracted from being? Again, in every predication there is an
attribution of singular or plural. But number is the most real of 238
all things, and cannot be attributed to not-being. Therefore not-
being cannot be predicated or expressed; for how can we say
*is,' 'are not,' without number?
And now arises the greatest difficulty of alL If not-being is 239
inconceivable, how can not-being be refuted? And am I not
contradicting myself at this moment, in speaking either in the
singular or the plural of that to which I deny both plurality and
unity ? You, Theaetetus, have the might of youth, and I conjure
you to exert yourself, and, if you can, to find an expression for
not-being which does not imply being and number. * But I can-
not' Then the Sophist must be left in his hole. We may call
him an image-maker if we please, but he will only say, 'And
pray, what is an image ? ' And we shall reply, * A reflection in
the water, or in a mirror ' ; and he will say, * Let us shut our eyes 240
and open our minds ; what is the common notion of all images ? '
* I should answer. Such another, made in the likeness of the true.'
Real or not real ? ' Not real ; at least, not in a true sense.' And
the real * is,' and the not-real ' is not ' ? ' Yes.' Then a likeness is
really unreal, and essentially not. Here is a pretty complication
of being and not-being, in which the many-headed Sophist has
entangled us. He will at once point out that he is compelling us 241
to contradict ourselves, by affirming being of not-being. I think
that we must cease to look for him in the class of imitators.
But ought we to give him up? *I should say, certainly not.'
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Analysis 241-245. 307
Then I fear that I must lay hands on my father Parmenides ; but Sophist.
do not call me a parricide; for there is no way out of the Amaltbis.
difficulty except to show that in some sense not-beiiig is ; and if
this is not admitted, no one can speak of falsehood, or false
242 opinion, or imitation, without falling into a contradiction. You
observe how unwilling I am to undertake the task ; for I know
that I am exposing myself to the charge of inconsistency in
asserting the being of not-being. But if I am to make the attempt,
I think that I had better begin at the beginning.
Lightly in the days of our youth, Parmenides and others told
us tales about the origin of the universe: one spoke of three
principles warring and at peace again, marrying and begetting
children ; another of two principles, hot and cold, dry and moist,
which also formed relationships. There were the Eleatics in our
part of the world, saying that all things are one ; whose doctrine
begins with Xenophanes, and is even older. Ionian, and, more
recently, Sicilian muses speak of a one and many which are held
together by enmity and friendship, ever parting, ever meeting.
243 Some of them do not insist on the perpetual strife, but adopt
a gentler strain, and speak of alternation only. Whether they are
right or not, who can say? But one thing we can say— that they
went on their way without much caring whether we understood
them or not For tell me, Theaetetus, do you understand what
they mean by their assertion of unity, or by their combinations
and separations of two or more principles ? I used to think,
when I was young, that I knew all about not-being, and now
I am in great difficulties even about being.
Let us proceed ^rst to the examination of being. Turning to
the dualist philosophers, we say to them : Is being a third element
besides hot and cold ? or do you identify one or both of the two
244 elements with being ? At any rate, you can hardly avoid resolving
them into one. Let us next interrogate the patrons of the one.
To them we say: Are being and one two different names for
the same thing ? But how can there be two names when there is
nothing but one ? Or you may identify them ; but then the name
will be either the name of nothing or of itself, i. e. of a name.
Again, the notion of being is conceived of as a whole— in the
245 words of Parmenides, * like every way unto a rounded sphere.'
And a whole has parts ; but that which has parts is not one, for
X 2
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3o8 Analysts 245-248,
Sophist, unity has no parts. Is being, then, one, because the parts of
Analysis, being are one, or shall we say that being is not a whole? In
the former case, one is made up of parts ; and in the latter there
is still plurality, viz. being, and a whole which is apart from
being. And being, if not all things, lacks something of the nature
of being, and becomes not-being. Nor can being ever have
come into existence, for nothing comes into existence except
as a whole; nor can being have number, for that which has
number is a whole or sum of number. These are a few of the
difficulties which are accumulating one upon another in the
consideration of being.
We may proceed now to the less exact sort of philosophers. 246
Some of them <lrag down everything to earth, and carry on a war
like that of the giants, grasping rocks and oaks in their hands.
Their adversaries defend themselves warily from an invisible
world, and reduce the substances of their opponents to the
minutest fractions, until they are lost in generation and flux.
The latter sort are civil people enough ; but the materialists are
rude and ignorant of dialectics; they must be taught how to
argue before they can answer. Yet, for the sake of the argument,
we may assume them to be better than they are, and able to
give an account of themselves. They admit the existence of
a mortal living creature, which is a body containing a soul, and 247
to this they would not refuse to attribute qualities— wisdom, folly,
justice and injustice. The soul, as they say, has a kind of body,
but they do not like to assert of these qualities of the soul, either
that they are corporeal, or that they have no existence ; at this
point they begin to make distinctions. * Sons of earth,' we say
to them, ' if both visible and invisible qualities exist, what is the
common nature which is attributed to them by the term "being"
or " existence " ? ' And, as they are incapable of answering this
question, we may as well reply for them, that being is the power
of doing or suffering. Then we turn to the friends of ideas : 248
to them we say, * You distinguish becoming from being ? ' * Yes,'
they will reply. ' And in becoming you participate through the
bodily senses, and in being, by thought and the mind ? ' ' Yes.'
And you mean by the word * participation ' a power of doing or
suffering? To this ^hey answer— I am acquainted with them,
Theaetetus, and know their ways better than you do— that being
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Analysts 248-252. 309
can neither do nor suffer, though becoming may. And we rejoin : SophisK
Does not the soul know ? And is not * being ' known ? And are Analysis*
not * knowing' and * being known' active and passive? That
which is known is aifected by knowledge, and therefore is in
249 motion. And, indeed, how can we imagine that perfect being is
a mere everlasting form, devoid of motion and soul ? for there
can be no thought without soul, nor can soul be devoid of motion.
But neither can thought or mind be devoid of some principle
of rest or stability. And as children say entreatingly, ' Give us
both,* so the philosopher must include both the moveable and
immoveable in his idea of being. And yet, alas! he and we
are in the same difficulty with which we reproached the dualists ;
250 for motion and rest are contradictions — how then can they both
exist ? Does he who affirms this mean to say that motion is rest,
or rest motion ? ' No ; he means to assert the existence of some
third thing, different from them both, which neither rests nor
moves.' But how can there be anything which neither rests
nor moves? Here is a second difficulty about being, quite as
great as that about not-being. And we may hope that any light
251 which is thrown upon the one may extend to the other.
Leaving them for the present, let us enquire what we mean by
giving many names to the same thing, e.g. white, good, tall, to
man ; out of which ^tyros old and young derive sucn a feast of
amusement Their meagre minds refuse to predicate anything of
anything ; they say that good is good, and man is man ; and that
to affirm one of the other would be making the many one and the
one many. Let us place them in a class with our previous
opponents, and interrogate both of them at once. Shall we
assume (i) that being and rest and motion, and all other things,
252 are incommunicable with one another ? or (2) that they all have
indiscriminate communion? or (3) that there is communion of
some and not of others ? And we will consider the first hypothesis
first of all ^|
(i) If we suppose the universal separation of kinds, all theories
alike are swept away ; the patrons of a single principle of rest or
of motion, or of a plurality of immutable ideas— all alike have the
ground cut from under them ; and all creators of the universe
by theories of composition and division, whether out of or into
a finite or infinite number of elemental forms, in alternation ox
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3IO Analysis 252-255.
^hist, continuance, share the same fate. Most ridiculous is the dis-
Analysis, comflture which attends the opponents of predication, who, like
the ventriloquist Eurycles, have the voice that answers them in
their own breast For they cannot help using the words *is,'
'apart,' 'from others,' and the like; and their adversaries are
thus saved the trouble of refuting them. But (2) if all things have
communion with all things, motion will rest, and rest will move ;
here is a reductio ad absurdum. Two out of the three hypotheses
are thus seen to be false. The third (3) remains, which affirms
that only certain things communicate with certain other things.
In the alphabet and the scale there are some letters and notes 253
which combine with others, and some which do not ; and the
laws according to which they combine or are separated are
known to the grammarian and musician. And there is a science
which teaches not only what notes and letters, but what classes
admit of combination with one another, and what not This is
a noble science, on which we have stumbled unawares; in
seeking after the Sophist we have found the philosopher. He is
the master who discerns one whole or form pervading a scattered
multitude, and many such wholes combined under a higher
one, and many entirely apart — he is the true dialectician. Like
the Sophist, he is hard to recognize, though for the opposite
reasons ; the Sophist runs away into the obscurity of not-being, 254
the philosopher is dark from excess of light And now^ leaving
him, we will return to our pursuit of the Sophist.
Agreeing in the truth of the third h3rpothesiSy that some things
have communion and others not, and that some may have com-
munion with all, let us examine the most important kinds which
are capable of admixture ; and in this way we may perhaps find
out a sense in which not-being may be affirmed to have being.
Now the highest kinds are being, rest, motion ; and of these,
rest and motion exclude each other^ but both of them are included
in being; and again, they are the same with themselves and
the other of each other. What is the meaning of these words,
'same' and 'other'? Are there two more kinds to be added
to the three others ? For sameness cannot be either rest or 255
motion, because predicated both of rest and motion; nor yet
being, because if being were attributed to both of them we should
attribute sameness to both of them. Nor can other be identified
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Analysts 255-260. 311.
with being; for then other, which is relative, would have the SpphUt.
absoluteness of being. Therefore we must assume a fifth Avuaxwm.-
principle, which is universal, and runs through all things, for
each thing is other than all other things. Thus there are five
principles : (i) being, (a) motion, which is not (3) rest, and because
participating both in the same and other, is and is not (4) the
same with itself, and is and is not (5) other than the other. And
motion is not being, but partakes of being,. and therefore is and
256. is not in the most absolute sense. Thus we have discovered that-
not-being is the principle of the other which runs through all
things, being not excepted. And 'being' is one thing, and *not-
257 being' includes and is all other things. And not-being is not
the opposite of being, but only the other. Knowledge has many
branches, and the other or difference has as many, each of which
is described by prefixing the word * not ' to some kind of know-
ledge. The not-beautiful is as real as the beautifiil, the not-just
as the just And the essence of the not-beautiful is to be
separated from and opposed to a certain kind of existence which
258 is termed beautiful. And this opposition and negation is the
not-being of which we are in search, and is one kind of being.
Thus, in spite of Parmenides, we have not only discovered the
existence, but also the nature of not-being — that nature we have
259 found to be relation. In the communion of difierent kinds, being
and other mutually interpenetrate ; other is, but is other than
being, and other than each and all of the remaining kinds, and
therefore in an infinity of ways * is not' And the argument has
shown, that the pursuit of contradictions is childish and useless,
and the very opposite of that higher spirit which criticizes the
words of another according to the natural meaning of them.
260 Nothing can be more unphilosophical than the denial of all
communion of kinds. And we are fortunate in having established
such a conmiunion for another reason, because in continuing the
hunt after the Sophist we have to examine the nature of dis-
coiu-se, and there could be no discourse if there were no com-
munion. For the Sophist, although he can no longer deny the
existence of not-being, may still affirm that not-being cannot
enter into discourse, and as he was arguing before that there
could be no such thing as falsehood, because there was no such
thing as not-being, he may continue to argue that there is no such.
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312 Analysis 260-265.
Scphisi, thing as the art of image-making and phantastic, because not*
Analysis, being has no place in language. Hence arises the necessity of
examining speech, opinion, and imagination.
And first concerning speech ; let us ask the same question 261
about words which we have already answered about the kinds of
being and the letters of the alphabet : To what extent do they
admit of combination? Some words have a meaning when
combined, and others have no meaning. One class of words
describes action, another class agents: 'walks,' 'runs,* 'sleeps '262
are examples of the first; 'stag,' 'horse,' 'lion' of the second.
But no combination of words can be formed without a verb
and a noun, e.g. 'A man learns'; the simplest sentence is
composed of two words, and one of these must be a subject.
For example, in the sentence, ' Theaetetus sits,' which is not 263
very long, 'Theaetetus' is the subject, and in the sentence
* Theaetetus flies,' ' Theaetetus ' is again the subject. But the two
sentences differ in quality, for the first says of you that which
is true, and the second says of you that which is not true, or,
in other words, attributes to you things which are not as though
they were. Here is false discourse in the shortest form. And
thus not only speech, but thought and opinion and imagination
are proved to be both true and false. For thought is only the
process of silent speech, and opinion is only the silent assent 264
or denial which follows this, and imagination is only the ex-
pression of this in some form of sense. All of them are akin
to speech, and therefore, like speech, admit of true and false.
And we have discovered false opinion, which is an encouraging
sign of our probable success in the rest of the enquiry.
Then now let us return to our old division of likeness-making
and phantastic. When we were going to place the Sophist in
one of them, a doubt arose whether there could be such a thing
as an appearance, because there was no such thing as falsehood.
At length falsehood has been discovered by us to exist, and
we have acknowledged that the Sophist is to be found in the
class of imitators. All art was divided originally by us into two 265
branches — productive and acquisitive. And now we may divide
both on a different principle into the creations or imitations which
are of human, and those which are of divine, origin. For we
must admit that the world and ourselves and the animals did
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Analysis 265-268.
313
not come into existence by chance, or the spontaneous working
366 of nature, but by divine reason and knowledge. And there are
not only divine creations but divine imitations, such as apparitions
and shadows and reflections, which are equally the work of
a divine mind. And there are human creations and human
imitations too,— there is the actual house and the drawing of it
Nor must we forget that image-making may be an imitation of
realities or an imitation of appearances, which last has been called
267 by us phantastic. And this phantastic may be again divided
into imitation by the help of instruments and impersonations.
And the latter may be either dissembling or unconscious, either
with or without knowledge. A man cannot imitate you, Theae-
tetus, without knowing you, but he can imitate the form of
justice or virtue if he have a sentiment or opinion about them.
Not being well provided with names, the former I will venture
to call the imitation of science, and the latter the imitation of
opinion.
The latter is our present concern, for the Sophist has no claims
to science or knowledge. Now the imitator, who has only opinion,
268 may be either the simple imitator, who thinks that he knows, or
the dissembler, who is conscious that he does not know, but dis-
guises his ignorance. And the last may be either a maker of long
speeches, or of shorter speeches which compel the person con-
versing to contradict himself. The maker of longer speeches is
the popular orator ; the maker of the shorter is the Sophist, whose
art may be traced as being the
]• •
contradictious
dissembling
without knowledge
human and not divine
juggling with words
phantastic or unreal
art of image-making.
SopkUt.
AiuLvns.
/
In commenting on the dialogue in which Plato most nearly limoDao
approaches the great modem master of metaphysics there are
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314 Not-being is the complement of Being.
Sd^Jki^, several points which it will be useful to consider, such as the
iiiT«0Dix> unity of opposites, the conception of the ideas as causes, and the
relation of the Platonic and Hegelian dialectic.
The unity of opposites was the crux of ancient thinkers in the
age of Plato : How could one thing be or become another ? That
substances have attributes was implied in common language ; that
heat and cold, day and night, pass into one another was a matter
of experience 'on a level with the cobbler's understanding'
(Theaet i8o D). But how could philosophy explain the connexion
of ideas, how justify the passing of them into one another?
The abstractions of one, other, being, not-being, rest, motion,
individual, universal, which successive generations of philosophers
had recently discovered, seemed to be beyond the reach of human
thought, like stars shining in a distant heaven. They were the
symbols of different schools of philosophy : but in what relation
did they stand to one another and to the world of sense ? It was
hardly conceivable that one could be other, or the same different
Yet without some reconciliation of these elementary ideas thought
was impossible. There was no distinction between truth and
falsehood, between the Sophist and the philosopher. Everything
could be predicated of everything, or nothing of anything. To
these difficulties Plato finds what to us appears to be the answer
of common sense—that Not-being is the relative or other of Being,
the defining and distinguishing principle, and that some ideas
combine with others, but not all with all. It is remarkable how-
ever that he offers this obvious reply only as the result of a long,
and tedious enquiry ; by a great effort he is able to look down as
'from a height' on the 'friends of the ideas' (248 A) as well as on
the pre-Socratic philosophies. Yet he is merely asserting principles
which no one who could be made to understand them would deny.
The Platonic unity of differences or opposites is the beginning
of the modem view that all knowledge is of relations ; it also
anticipates the doctrine of Spinoza that all determination b nega-
tion. Plato takes or gives so much of either of these theories as
was necessary or possible in the age in which he lived. In the
Sophist, as in the Cratylus, he is opposed to the Heraclitean flux
and equally to the Megarian and Cynic denial of predication,
' because he regards both of them as making knowledge im-
possible. He does not assert that everything is and is not, or
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Plato s dialectic. 315
that the same thing can be affected in the same and in opposite Sophist:-
ways at the same time and in respect of the same part of itself, imtmoouo
The law of contradiction is as clearly laid down by him in the ™*"*
Republic (iv. 436 fF. ; v. 454 C, D), as by Aristotle in his Organon*
Yet he is aware that in the negative there is also a positive
element, and that oppositions may be only diflferences. And in
the Parmenides he deduces the many from the one and Not-being
from Being, and yet shows that the many are included in the one,
and that Not-being retiums to Being.
In several of the later dialogues Plato is occupied with the con-
nexion of the sciences, which in the Philebus he divides into two
classes of pure and applied, adding to them there as elsewhere
(Phaedr., Crat., Rep., States.) a superintending science of dialectic.
This is the origin of Aristotle's Architectonic, which seems, how-
ever, to have passed into an imaginary science of essence, and no
longer to retain any relation to other branches of knowledge. Of
such a science, whether described as 'philosophia prima,' the
science of oixriay logic or metaphysics, philosophers have often
dreamed. But even now the time has not arrived when the
anticipation of Plato can be realized. Though many a thinker
has framed a ' hierarchy of the sciences,' no one has as yet found
the higher science which arrays them in harmonious order, giving
to the organic and inorganic, to the physical and moral, their
respective limits, and showing how they all work together in the
world and in man.
Plato arranges in order the stages of knowledge and of exist-
ence. They are the steps or grades by which he rises from sense
and the shadows of sense to the idea of beauty and good. Mind
is in motion as well as at rest (Soph. 249 B) ; and may be
described as a dialectical progress which passes from one limit
or determination of thought to another and back again to the first*
This is the account of dialectic given by Plato in the Sixth Book
of the Republic (511), which regarded imder another aspect is the
mysticism of the Symposiimi (Symp. 211). He does not deny the
existence of objects of sense, but according to him they only
receive their true meaning when they are incorporated in a prin-i
ciple which is above them (Rep. vL 511 A, B). In modem language
they might be said to come first in the order of experience, last in
the order of nature and reason. They are assumed, as he is fond of
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3i6 Plato and Hegel.
Sophist, repeating, upon the condition that they shall give an account of
Introdoc- themselves and that the truth of their existence shall be hereafter
TlOV*
proved. For philosophy must begin somewhere and may begin
an3nvhere,--with outward objects, with statements of opinion, with
abstract principles. But objects of sense must lead us onward to
the ideas or universals which are contained in them ; the state-
ments of opinion must be verified ; the abstract principles must
be filled up and connected with one another. In Plato we find, as
we might expect, the germs of many thoughts which have been
further developed by the genius of Spinoza and Hegel. But there
is a difficulty in separating the germ from the flower, or in draw-
ing the line which divides ancient from modem philosophy. Many
coincidences which occur in them are unconscious, seeming to
show a natural tendency in the human mind towards certain ideas
and forms of thought. And there are many speculations of Plata
which would have passed away unheeded, and their meaning, like
that of some hieroglyphic, would have remained undeciphered,
unless two thousand years and more afterwards an interpreter
had arisen of a kindred spirit and of the same intellectual family.
For example, in the Sophist Plato begins with the abstract and
goes on to the concrete, not in the lower sense of returning to
outward objects, but to the Hegelian concrete or unity of abstrac-
tions. In the intervening period hardly any importance would
have been attached to the question which is so full of meaning to
Plato and Hegel.
They differ however in their manner of regarding the question.
For Plato is answering a difficulty; he is seeking to justify the
use of common language and of ordinary thought into which
philosophy had introduced a principle of doubt and dissolution.
Whereas Hegel tries to go beyond common thought, and to
combine abstractions in a higher unity : the ordinary mechanism
of language and logic is carried by him into another region in
which all oppositions are absorbed and all contradictions affirmed,
only that they may be done away with. But Plato, unlike Hegel,
nowhere bases his system on the unity of opposites, although in
the Parmenides he shows an Hegelian subtlety in the analysis of
one and Being.
It is difficult within the compass of a few pages to give even a
faint outline of the Hegelian dialectic. No philosophy which is
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The obscurity of Hegel. 317
worth understanding can be understood in a moment ; common Sophist.
sense will not teach us metaphysics any more than mathematics, introdoc-
If all sciences demand of us protracted study and attention, the '^^^'
highest of all can hardly be matter of immediate intuition. Neither
can we appreciate a great system without yielding a half assent to
it— like flies we are caught in the spider's web ; and we can only
judge of it truly when we place ourselves at a distance from it Of
all philosophies Hegelianism is the most obscure : and the difficulty
inherent in the subject is increased by the use of a technical lan-
guage. The saying of Socrates respecting the writings of Hera-
cleitus— * Noble is that which I understand, and that which I do
not understand may be as noble ; but the strength of a Delian
diver is needed to swim through it ' — expresses the feeling with
which the reader rises from the perusal of Hegel. We may truly
apply to him the words in which Plato describes the Pre-Socratic
philosophers : * He went on his way rather regardless of whether
we understood him or not ' ; or, as he is reported himself to have
said of his own pupils : * There is only one of you who under-
stands me, and he does not understand me.'
Nevertheless the consideration of a few general aspects of the
Hegelian philosophy may help to dispel some errors and to
awaken an interest about it (i) It is an ideal philosophy which,
in popular phraseology, maintains not matter but mind to be the
truth of things, and this not by a mere crude substitution of one
word for another, but by showing either of them to be the comple-
ment of the other. Both are creations of thought, and the differ-
ence in kind which seems to divide them may also be regarded as
a difference of degree. One is to the other as the real to the ideal,
and both may be conceived together under the higher form of the
notion, (ii) Under another aspect it views all the forms of sense
and knowledge as stages of thought which have always existed
implicitly and unconsciously, and to which the mind of the world,
gradually disengaged from sense, has become awakened. The
present has been the past. The succession in time of human
ideas is also the eternal * now ' ; it b historical and also a divine
ideal. The history of philosophy stripped of personality and of
the other accidents of time and place is gathered up into philo-
sophy, and again philosophy clothed in circumstance expands into
history, (iii) Whether regarded as present or past, under the
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3i8 The new and higher concrete of abstractions.
Spphist form of time or of eternity, the spirit of dialectic is always moving
ivnoDuc- onwards from one determination of thought to another, receiving
each successive system of philosophy and subordinating it to that
which follows— impelled by an irresistible necessity from one idea
to another until the cycle of human thought and existence is com-
plete. It follows from this that all previous philosophies which
are worthy of the name are not mere opinions or speculations, but
stages or moments of thought which have a necessary place in the
world of mind. They are no longer the last word of philosophy,
for another and another has succeeded them, but they still live
and are mighty ; in the language of the Greek poet, ' There is a
great God in them, and he grows not old.' (iv) This vast ideal
system is supposed to be based upon experience. At each step
it professes to carry with it the * witness of eyes and ears ' and of
common sense, as well as the internal evidence of its own con-
sistency; it has a place for every science, and affirms that no
philosophy of a narrower t3rpe is capable of comprehending all
true facts.
The Hegelian dialectic may be also described as a movement
from the simple to the complex. Beginning with the generaliza-
tions of sense, (i) passing through ideas of quality, quantity,
measure, number, and the like, (2) ascending from presentations,
that is pictorial forms of sense, to representations in which the
picture vanishes and the essence is detached in thought from the
outward form, (3) combining the I and the not-I, or the subject
and object, the natural order of thought is at last found to include
the leading ideas of the sciences and to arrange them in relation to
one another. Abstractions grow together and again become con-
crete in a new and higher sense. They also admit of development
from within in their own spheres. Everywhere there is a move-
ment of attraction and repulsion going on — an attraction or repul-
sion of ideas of which the physical phenomenon described under
a similar name is a figure. Freedom and necessity, mind and
matter, the continuous and the discrete, cause and effect, are per-
petually being severed from one another in thought, only to be
perpetually reunited. The finite and infinite, the absolute and
relative are not really opposed ; the finite and the negation of
the finite are alike lost in a higher or positive infinity, and the
absolute is the sum or correlation of all relatives. When this
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Hegel and the Formal Logicians. 319
reconciliation of opposites is finally completed in all its stages, Sophist,
the mind may come back again and review the things of sense, iimoDuo-
the opinions of philosophers, the strife of theology and politics,
without being disturbed by them. Whatever is, if not the very
best— and what is the best, who can tell ?— is, at any rate, his-
torical and rational, suitable to its own age, unsuitable to any
other. Nor can any efforts of speculative thinkers or of soldiers
and statesmen materially quicken the 'process of the suns.'
Hegel was quite sensible how great would be the difficulty of
presenting philosophy to mankind under the form of opposites.
Most of us live in the one-sided truth which the understanding
offers to us, and if occasionally we come across difficulties like
the time-honoured controversy of necessity and free-will, or the
Eleatic puzzle of Achilles and the tortoise, we relegate some of
them to the sphere of mystery, others to the book of riddles, and
go on our way rejoicing. Most men (like Aristotle) have been
accustomed to regard a contradiction in terms as the end of strife;
to be told that contradiction is the life and mainspring of the intel-
lectual world is indeed a paradox to them. Every abstraction is
at first the enemy of every other, yet they are linked together,
each with all, in the chain of Being. The struggle for existence
is not confined to the animals, but appears in the kingdom of
thought The divisions which arise in thought between the
physical and moral and between the moral and intellectual, and
the like, are deepened and widened by the formal logic which
elevates the defects of the human faculties into Laws of Thought ;
they become a part of the mind which makes them and is also
made up of thenL Such distinctions become so familiar to us that
we regard the thing signified by them as absolutely fixed and
defined. These are some of the illusions from which Hegel
delivers us by placing us above ourselves, by teaching us to
analyze the growth of * what we are pleased to call our minds,'
by reverting to a time when our present distinctions of thought
and language had no existence.
Of the great dislike and childish impatience of his system
which would be aroused among his opponents, he was fully
aware, and would often anticipate the jests which the rest of the
world, * in the superfluity of their wits,' were likely to make upon
him. Men are annoyed at what puzzles them ; they think what
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320 To Hegel philosophy was a religion.
Sophist, they cannot easily understand to be full of danger. Many a
Intboduo sceptic has stood, as he supposed, firmly rooted in the categories
HON*
of the understanding which Hegel resolves into their original
nothingness. For, like Plato, he * leaves no stone unturned' in
the intellectual world. Nor can we deny that he is unnecessarily
difficult, or that his own mind, like that of all metaphysicians,
was too much under the dominion of his system and unable to
see beyond ; or that the study of philosophy, if made a serious
business (cp. Rep. vii. 538), involves grave results to the mind
and life of the student. For it may encumber him without
enlightening his path ; and it may weaken his natural faculties
of thought and expression without increasing his philosophical
power. The mind easily becomes entangled among abstractions,
and loses hold of facts. The glass which is adapted to distant
objects takes away the vision of what is near and present to us.
To Hegel, as to the ancient Greek thinkers, philosophy was a
religion, a principle of life as well as of knowledge, like the idea
of good in the Sixth Book of the Republic, a cause as well as an
effect, the source of growth as well as of light. In forms of
thought which by most of us are regarded as mere categories, he
saw or thought that he saw a gradual revelation of the Divine
Being. He would have been said by his opponents to have con-
fused God with the history of philosophy, and to have been
incapable of distinguishing ideas from facts. And certainly we
can scarcely understand how a deep thinker like Hegel could
have hoped to revive or supplant the old traditional faith by an
unintelligible abstraction: or how he could have imagined that
philosophy consisted only or chiefly in the categories of logic.
For abstractions, though combined by him in the notion, seem to
be never really concrete ; they are a metaphysical anatomy, not a
living and thinking substance. Though we are reminded by him
again and again that we are gathering up the world in ideas, we
feel after all that we have not really spanned the gulf which
separates <lkjup6iupa from Hrra.
Having in view some of these difficulties, he seeks— and we
may follow his example— to make the understanding of his system
easier (a) by illustrations, and (b) by pointing out the coincidence
of the speculative idea and the historical order of thought
(a) If we ask how opposites can coexist, we are told that many
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Examples of the unity of opposites. 321
different qualities inhere in a flower or a tree or in any other Schist.
concrete object, and that any conception of space or matter or Intboouc
time involves the two contradictory attributes of divisibility and
condnuousness. We may ponder over the thought of number,
reminding ourselves that every unit both implies and denies the
existence of every other, and that the one is many— a sum of
fractions, and the many one — a sum of units. We may be
reminded that in nature there is a centripetal as well as a centri-
fugal force, a regulator as well as a spring, a law of attraction as
well as of repulsion. The way to the West is the way also to the
East ; the north pole of the magnet cannot be divided from the
south pole; two minus signs make a plus in Arithmetic and
Algebra. Again, we may liken the successive layers of thought
to the deposits of geological strata which were once fluid and are
now solid, which were at one time uppermost in the series and are
now hidden in the earth ; or to the successive rinds or barks of
trees which year by year pass inward ; or to the ripple of water
which appears and reappears in an ever-widening circle. Or
our attention may be drawn to ideas which the moment we
analyze them involve a contradiction, such as 'beginning' or
* becoming,' or to the opposite poles, as they are sometimes
termed, of necessity and freedom, of idea and fact We may be
told to observe that every negative is a positive, that differences
of kind are resolvable into differences of degree, and that differ-
ences of degree may be heightened into differences of kind.
We may remember the common remark that there is much to be
said on both sides of a question. We may be reconmiended to
look within and to explain how opposite ideas can coexist in our
own minds; and we may be told to imagine the minds of all
mankind as one mind in which the true ideas of all ages and
countries inhere. In our conception of God in his relation to
man or of any union of the divine and human nature, a contra-
diction appears to be unavoidable. Is not the reconciliation of
mind and body a necessity, not only of speculation but of practical
life ? Reflections such as these will furnish the best preparation
and give the right attitude of mind for understanding the
Hegelian philosophy.
{b) HegePs treatment of the early Greek thinkers affords the
readiest illustration of his meaning in conceiving all philosophy
VOL. IV. Y
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TIOH.
322 Progression of thought by antagonism.
Sophist, under the form of opposites. The first abstraction is to him the
Imtroduc. beginning of thought Hitherto there had only existed a tumul-
tuous chaos of m3rthological fancy, but when Thales said * All is
water ' a new era began to dawn upon the world. Man was seek-
ing to grasp the universe under a single form which was at first
simply a material element, the most equable and colourless and
universal which could be found. But soon the human mind
became dissatisfied with the emblem, and after ringing the
changes on one element after another, demanded a more abstract
and perfect conception, such as one or Being, which was absolutely
at rest. But the positive had its negative, the conception of Being
involved Not-being, the conception of one, many, the conception of
a whole, parts. Then the pendulum swung to the other side, from
rest to motion, from Xenophanes to Heracleitus. The opposition
of Being and Not-being projected into space became the atoms
and void of Leucippus and Democritus. Until the Atomists, the
abstraction of the individual did not exist ; in the philosophy of
Anaxagoras the idea of mind, whether human or divine, was
beginning to be realized. The pendulum gave another swing,
from the individual to the universal, from the objett to the subject.
The Sophist first uttered the word ' Man is the measure of all
things,' which Socrates presented in a new form as the study of
ethics. Once more we return from mind to the object of mind,
which is knowledge, and out of knowledge the various degrees
or kinds of knowledge more or less abstract were gradually
developed. The threefold division of logic, physic, and ethics,
foreshadowed in Plato, was finally established by Aristotle and
the Stoics. Thus, according to Hegel, in the course of about two
centuries by a process of antagonism and negation the leading
thoughts of philosophy were evolved.
There is nothing Hke this progress of opposites in Plato, who in
the Symposium denies the possibility of reconciliation until the
opposition has passed away. In his own words, there is an
absurdity in supposing that ' harmony is discord ; for in reality
harmony consists of notes of a higher and lower pitch which dis-
agreed once, but are now reconciled by the art of music ' (Symp.
187 A, B), He does indeed describe objects of sense as regarded
by us sometimes from one point of view and sometimes from
another. As he says at the end of the Fifth Book of the Republic,
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TION.
Silliness of the law of identity, 323
* There is nothing light which is not heavy, or great which is not Sophist.
small.' And he extends this relativity to the conceptions of just Int«oduc.
and good, as well as to great and small. In like manner he
acknowledges that the same nimiber may be more or less in rela-
tion to other numbers without any increase or diminution (Theaet.
155 A, B). But the perplexity only arises out of the confusion of
the human faculties ; the art of measuring shows us what is truly
great and truly small. Though the just and good in particular
instances may vary, the idea of good is eternal and unchangeable.
And the idea of good is the source of knowledge and also of Being,
in which all the stages of sense and knowledge are gathered up
and from being hypotheses become realities.
Leaving the comparison with Plato we may now consider the
value of this invention of Hegel. There can be no question of the
importance of showing that two contraries or contradictories may
in certain cases be both true. The silliness of the so-called laws
of thought (* All A=A,' or, in the negative form, 'Nothing can at
the same time be both A, and not A ') has been well exposed by
Hegel himself (Wallace's Hegel, p. 184), who remarks that 'the
form of the maxim is virtually self-contradictory, for a proposition
implies a distinction between subject and predicate, whereas the
maxim of identity, as it is called, A=A, does not fulfil what its
form requires. Nor does any mind ever think or form concep-
tions in accordance with this law, nor does any existence conform
to it' Wisdom of this sort is well parodied in Shakespeare'.
Unless we are willing to admit that two contradictories may be
true, many questions which lie at the threshold of mathematics
and of morals will be insoluble puzzles to us.
The influence of opposites is felt in practical* life. The under-
standing sees one side of a question only— the common sense of
mankind joins one of two parties in politics, in religion, in philo-
sophy. Yet, as everybody knows, truth is not wholly the pos-
session of either. But the characters of men are one-sided and
accept this or that aspect of the truth. The understanding is
strong in a single abstract principle and with this lever moves
mankind. Few attain to a balance of principles or recognize
* Twelfth Night, Act iv. Sc. a : ' Cloum, For as the old hermit of Prague,
that never saw pen and ink, very wittily said to a niece of King Gorbodnc,
"That that is is" . . . for what is "that" but "that," and "is" but "is"?'
Y 2
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324 Practical value of the Hegelian unity of opposites.
Sophist, truly how in all human things there is a thesis and antithesis, a
lifTRODuc law of action and of reaction. In politics we require order as well
as liberty, and have to consider the proportions in which under
given circumstances they may be safely combined. In religion
there is a tendency to lose sight of morality, to separate goodness
from the love of truth, to worship God without attempting to know
him. In philosophy again there are two opposite principles, of
immediate experience and of those general or a priori truths which
are supposed to transcend experience. But the common sense or
common opinion of mankind is incapable of apprehending these
opposite sides or views— men are determined by their natural
bent to one or other of them ; they go straight on for a time in a
single line, and may be many things by turns but not at once.
Hence the importance of familiarizing the mind with forms
which will assist us in conceiving or expressing the complex or
contrary aspects of life and nature. The danger is that they may
be too much for us, and obscure our appreciation of facts. As the
complexity of mechanics cannot be understood without mathe-
matics, so neither can the many-sidedness of the mental and moral
world be truly apprehended without the assistance of new forms
of thought. One of these forms is the unity of opposites. Abstrac-
tions have a great power over us, but they are apt to be partial
and one-sided, and only when modified by other abstractions do
they make an approach to the truth. Many a man has become a
fatalist because he has fallen under the dominion of a single idea.
He says to himself, for example, that he must be either free or
necessary— he cannot be both. Thus in the ancient world whole
schools of philosophy passed away in the vain attempt to solve
the problem of the continuity or divisibility of matter. And in
comparatively modern times, though in the spirit of an ancient
philosopher, Bishop Berkeley, feeling a similar perplexity, is
inclined to deny the truth of infinitesimals in mathematics. Many
difficulties arise in practical religion from the impossibility of con-
ceiving body and mind at once and in adjusting their movements
to one another. There is a border ground between them which
seems to belong to both ; and there is as much difficulty in con-
ceiving the body without the soul as the soul without the body.
To the * either ' and * or * philosophy (* Everything is either A or
not A ') should at least be added the clause * or neither,' * or both.'
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TION.
Its importance for philosophy. 325
The double form makes reflection easier and more conformable to Sophist.
experience, and also more comprehensive. But in order to avoid ismwouc-
paradox and the danger of giving offence to the unmetaphysical
part of mankind, we may speak of it as due to the imperfection of
language or the limitation of human faculties. It is nevertheless
a discovery which, in Platonic language, may be termed a * most
gracious aid to thought'
Jhe doctrine of opposite moments of thought or of progression
by antagonism, further assists us in framing a scheme or system
of the sciences. The negation of one gives birth to another of
them. The double notions are the joints which hold them toge-
ther. The simple is developed into the complex, the complex
returns again into the simple. Beginning with the highest notion
of mind or thought, we may descend by a series of negations to
the first generalizations of sense. Or again we may begin with
the simplest elements of sense and proceed upwards to the highest
being or thought. Metaphysic is the negation or absorption of
physiology — physiology of chemistry — chemistry of mechanical
philosophy. Similarly in mechanics, when we can no further go
we arrive at chemistry — when chemistry becomes organic we
arrive at physiology: when we pass from the outward and
animal to the inward nature of man we arrive at moral and
metaphysical philosophy. These sciences have each of them their
own methods and are pursued independentiy of one another.
But to the mind of the thinker they are all one— latent in one
another — developed out of one another.
This method of opposites has supplied new instruments of
thought for the solution of metaphysical problems, and has thrown
down many of the walls within which the human mind was con-
fined. Formerly when philosophers arrived at the infinite and
absolute, they seemed to be lost in a region beyond himian com-
prehension. But Hegel has shown that the absolute and infinite
are no more true than the relative and finite, and that they must
alike be negatived before we arrive at a true absolute or a true
infinite. The conceptions of the infinite and absolute as ordinarily
understood are tiresome because they are unmeaning, but there
is no peculiar sanctity or mystery in them. We might as well
make an infinitesimal series of fractions or a perpetually recurring
decimal the object of our worship. They are the widest and also
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noM.
326 Hegel frees the mind, but he also enslaves it.
Sophist, the thinnest of human ideas, or, in the language of logicians, they
Introduc. have the greatest extension and the least comprehension. Of all
words they may be truly said to be the most inflated with a false
meaning. They have been handed down from one philosopher
to another until they have acquired a religious character. They
seem also to derive a sacredness from their association with the
Divine Being. Yet they are the poorest of the predicates under
which we describe him— signifying no more than this, that h^ is
not finite, that he is not relative, and tending to obscure his higher
attributes of wisdom, goodness, truth.
The system of Hegel frees the mind from the dominion of
abstract ideas. We acknowledge his originality, and some of us
delight to wander in the mazes of thought which he has opened
to us. For Hegel has found admirers in England and Scotland
when his popularity in Germany has departed, and he, like the
philosophers whom he criticizes, is of the past. No other thinker
has ever dissected the human mind with equal patience and'
minuteness. He has lightened the burden of thought because he
has shown us that the chains which we wear are of our own
forging. To be able to place ourselves not only above the opinions
of men but above their modes of thinking, is a great height of
^ philosophy. This dearly obtained freedom, however, we are not
^disposed to part with, or to allow him to build up in a new form
the * beggarly elements ' of scholastic logic which he has thrown
down. So far as they are aids to reflection and expression, forms
of thought are useful, but no further : — ^we may easily have too
many of them.
And when we are asked to believe the Hegelian to be the sole
or universal logic, we naturally reply that there are other ways in
which our ideas may be connected. The triplets of Hegel, the
division into being, essence, and notion, are not the only or neces-
sary modes in which the world of thought can be conceived.
There may be an evolution by degrees as well as by opposites.
The word * continuity* suggests the possibility of resolving all
differences into differences of quantity. Again, the opposites
themselves may vary from the least degree of diversity up to
contradictory opposition. They are not like numbers and figures,
always and everywhere of the same value. And therefore the
edifice which is constructed out of them has merely an imaginary
Digitized by VjOOQIC
Second thoughts concerning Hegelianism. 327
symmetry, and is really irregular and out of proportion. The Sophist
spirit of Hegelian criticism should be applied to his own system, Iktboduo
and the terms Being, Not-being, existence, essence, notion, and "**"*
the like challenged and defined. For if Hegel introduces a great
many distinctions, he obliterates a great many others by the help
of the universal solvent * is not,* which appears to be the simplest
of negations, and yet admits of several meanings. Neither are we
able to follow him in the play of metaphysical fancy which con-
ducts him from one determination of thought to another. But we
begin to suspect that this vast system is not God within us, or God
immanent in the World, and may be only the invention of an
individual brain. The ' beyond * is always coming back upon us
however often we expel it.. We do not easily believe that we
have within the compass of the mind the form of universal
knowledge. We rather incline to think that the method of know-
ledge is inseparable from actual knowledge, and wait to see what
new forms may be developed out of our increasing experience
and observation of man and nature. We are conscious of a Being
who is without us as well as within us. Even if inclined to
Pantheism we are unwilling to imagine that the meagre categories
of the understanding, however ingeniously arranged or displayed,
are the image of God ; — that what all religions were seeking after
from the beginning was the Hegelian philosophy which has been
revealed in the latter days. The great metaphysician, like a
prophet of old, was naturally inclined to believe that his own
thoughts were divine realities. We may almost say that whatever
came into his head seemed to him to be a necessary truth. He
never appears to have criticized himself, or to have subjected his
own ideas to the process of analysis which he applies to every
other philosopher.
Hegel would have insisted that his philosophy should be ac-
cepted as a whole or not at all. He would have urged that the
parts derived their meaning from one another and from the
whole. He thought that he had supplied an outline large enough
to contain all future knowledge, and a method to which all future
philosophies must conform. His metaphysical genius is especially
shown in the construction of the categories— a work which was
only begun by Kant, and elaborated to the utmost by himself.
But is it really true that the part has no meaning when separated
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TIOM.
328 * What is actual is rational, what is rational is acttial!
Sophist, from the whole, or that knowledge to be knowledge at all must be
ijrraoDuc. universal ? Do all abstractions shine only by the reflected light of
other abstractions ? May they not also find a nearer explanation
in their relation to phenomena ? If many of them are correlatives
they are not all so, and the relations which subsist between them
vary from a mere association up to a necessary connexion. Nor
is it easy to determine how far the unknown element affects the
known, whether, for example, new discoveries may not one day
supersede our most elementary notions about nature. To a
certain extent all our knowledge is conditional upon what may be
known in future ages of the world. We must admit this hypo-
thetical element, which we cannot get rid of by an assumption
that we have already discovered the method to which all philo-
sophy must conform. Hegel is right in preferring the concrete to
the abstract, in setting actuality before possibility, in excluding
from the philosopher's vocabulary the word * inconceivable.' But
he is too well satisfied with his own system ever to consider the
effect of what is unknown on the element which is known. To
the Hegelian all things are plain and clear, while he who is
outside the charmed circle is in the mire of ignorance and * logical
impurity': he who is within is omniscient, or at least has all
the elements of knowledge under his hand.
Hegelianism may be said to be a transcendental defence of the
world as it is. There is no room for aspiration and no need of
any : 'what is actual is rational, what is rational is actual.' But a
good man will not readily acquiesce in this aphorism. He knows
of course that all things proceed according to law whether for
good or evil. But when he sees the misery and ignorance of
mankind he is convinced that without any interruption of the
uniformity of nature the condition of the world maybe indefinitely
improved by human effort. There is also an adaptation of persons
to times and countries, but this is very far from being the fulfil-
ment of their higher natures. The man of the seventeenth
century is unfitted for the eighteenth, and the man of the
eighteenth for the nineteenth, and most of us would be out of
place in the world of a hundred years hence. But all higher
minds are much more akin than they are different : genius is of all
ages, and there is perhaps more uniformity in excellence than in
mediocrity. The sublimer intelligences of mankind— Plato, Dante,
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TION.
Hegers philosophy tested by history, 329
Sir Thomas More—meet in a higher sphere above the ordinary Sophist,
ways of men ; they understand one another from afar, notwith- Iwtkoduc-
standing the interval which separates them. They are *the
spectators of all time and of all existence ' ; their works live for
ever ; and there is nothing to prevent the force of their individu-
ality breaking through the uniformity which surrounds them.
But such disturbers of the order of thought Hegel is reluctant to
acknowledge.
The doctrine of Hegel will to many seem the expression of an
indolent conservatism, and will at any rate be made an excuse for
it. The mind of the patriot rebels when he is told that the worst
tyranny and oppression has a natural fitness : he cannot be
persuaded, for example, that the conquest of Prussia by Napoleon
I. was either natural or necessary, or that any similar calamity
befalling a nation should be a matter of indifference to the poet or
philosopher. We may need such a philosophy or religion to
console us under evils which are irremediable, but we see that it
is fatal to the higher life of man. It seems to say to us, *The
world is a vast system or machine which can be conceived under
the forms of logic, but in which no single man can do any great
good or any great harm. Even if it were a thousand times worse
than it is, it could be arranged in categories and explained by
philosophers. And what more do we want ? '
The philosophy of Hegel appeals to an historical criterion : the
ideas of men have a succession in time as well as an order of
thought But the assumption that there is a correspondence
between the succession of ideas in history and the natural order
of philosophy is hardly true even of the beginnings of thought
And in later systems forms of thought are too numerous and
complex to admit of our tracing in them a regular succession.
They seem also to be in part reflections of the past, and it is
difficult to separate in them what is original and what is borrowed.
Doubtless they have a relation to one another— the transition
from Descartes to Spinoza or from Locke to Berkeley is not
a matter of chance, but it can hardly be described as an alternation
of opposites or figured to the mind by the vibrations of a pen-
dulum. Even in Aristotle and Plato, rightly understood, we
cannot trace this law of action and reaction. They are both
idealists, although to the one the idea is actual and immanent,— to
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330 and found wanting.
Sophist, the other only potential and transcendent, as Hegel himself has
iwTRODuc pointed out (Wallace's Hegel, p. 223). The true meaning of Aris-
"*'"* totle has been disguised from us by his own appeal to fact and
the opinions of mankind in his more popular works, and by the
use made of his writings in the Middle Ages. No book, except the
Scriptures, has been so much read, and so little understood. The
Pre-Socratic philosophies are simpler, and we may observe a pro-
gress in them ; but is there any regular succession? The ideas of
Being, change, number, seem to have sprung up contemporaneously
in different parts of Greece and we have no difficulty in construct-
ing them out of one another — we can see that the union of Being
and Not-being gave birth to the idea of change or Becoming and
that one might be another aspect of Being. Again, the Eleatics
may be regarded as developing in one direction into the Megarian
school, in the other into the Atomists, but there is no necessary
connexion between them. Nor is there any indication that the
deficiency which was felt in one school was supplemented or
compensated by another. They were all efforts to supply the
want which the Greeks began to feel at the beginning of the sixth
century before Christ,— the want of abstract ideas. Nor must we
forget the uncertainty of chronology ;— if, as Aristotle says, there
were Atomists before Leucippus, Eleatics before Xenophanes,
and perhaps * patrons of the flux' before Heracleitus, Hegel's
order of thought in the history of philosophy would be as much
disarranged as his order of religious thought by recent discoveries
in the history of religion.
Hegel is fond of repeating that all philosophies still live and
that the earlier are preserved in the later; they are refuted,
and they are not refuted, by those who succeed them. Once
they reigned supreme, now they are subordinated to a power
or idea greater or more comprehensive than their own. The
thoughts of Socrates and Plato and Aristotle have certainly sunk
deep into the mind of the world, and have exercised an influence
which will never pass away; but can we say that they have
the same meaning in modern and ancient philosophy ? Some
of them, as for example the words * Being,* * essence,' ' matter,'
* form,' either have become obsolete, or are used in new senses,
whereas * individual,' 'cause,' 'motive,' have acquired an exag-
gerated importance. Is the manner in which the logical de-
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The old logic rehabilitated by him^ but in a new sense. 331
terminations of thought, or * categories ' as they may be termed, Sophist,
have been handed down to us, really different from that in which limioDuc-
other words have come down to us ? Have they not been equally
subject to accident, and are they not often used by Hegel himself
in senses which would have been quite unintelligible to their
original inventors— as for example, when he speaks of the
* ground ' of Leibnitz (* Everything has a sufficient ground ') as
identical with his owti doctrine of the * notion ' (Wallace's Hegel,
p. 195), or the * Being and Not-being ' of Heracleitus as the same
with his own * Becoming' ?
As the historical order of thought has been adapted to the
logical, so we have reason for suspecting that the Hegelian logic
has been in some degree adapted to the order of thought in
history. There is unfortunately no criterion to which either of
them can be subjected, and not much forcing was required to
bring either into near relations with the other. We may fairly
doubt whether the division of the first and second parts of logic
in the Hegelian system has not really arisen from a desire to
make them accord with the first and second stages of the early
Greek philosophy. Is there any reason why the conception of
measure in the first part, which is formed by the union of quality
and quantity, should not have been equally placed in the second
division of mediate or reflected ideas ? The more we analyze
them the less exact does the coincidence of philosophy and the
history of philosophy appear. Many terms which were used
absolutely in the beginning of philosophy, suc?h as 'Being,'
* matter,' * cause,' and the like, became relative in the subsequent
history of thought. But Hegel employs some of them absolutely,
some relatively, seemingly without any principle and without any
regard to their original significance.
The divisions of the Hegelian logic bear a superficial resem-
blance to the divisions of the scholastic logic. The first part
answers to the term, the second to the proposition, the third to
the syllogism. These are the grades of thought under which
we conceive the world, first, in the general terms of quality,
quantity, measure ; secondly, under the relative forms of * ground'
and existence, substance and accidents, and the like ; thirdly in
syllogistic forms of the individual mediated with the universal
by the help of the particular. Of syllogisms there are various
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TION.
332 Some omissions and defects in Hegel.
Sophist, kinds, — qualitative, quantitative, inductive, mechanical, teleological,
lirrmoDuc- —which are developed out of one another. But is there any
meaning in reintroducing the forms of the old logic ? Who ever
thinks of the world as a syllogism? What connexion is there
between the proposition and our ideas of reciprocity, cause and
effect, and similar relations? It is difficult enough to conceive
all the powers of nature and mind gathered up in one. The
difficulty is greatly increased when the new is confused with the
old, and the common logic is the Procrustes* bed into which they
are forced.
The Hegelian philosophy claims, as we have seen, to be based
upon experience : it abrogates the distinction of a priori and
a posteriori truth. It also acknowledges that many differences
of kind are resolvable into differences of degree. It is familiar
with the terms 'evolution/ 'development,* and the like. Yet
it can hardly be said to have considered the forms of thought
which are best adapted for the expression of facts. It has never
applied the categories to experience; it has not defined the
differences in our ideas of opposition, or development, or cause
and effect, in the different sciences which make use of these
terms. It rests on a knowledge which is not the result of exact
or serious enquiry, but is floating in the air ; the mind has been
imperceptibly informed of some of the methods required in the
sciences. Hegel boasts that the movement of dialectic is at once
necessary and spontaneous : in reality it goes beyond experience
and is unverified by it. Further, the Hegelian philosophy, while
giving us the power of thinking a great deal more than we are
able to fill up, seems to be wanting in some determinations of
thought which we require. We cannot say that physical science,
which at present occupies so large a share of popular attention,
has been made easier or more intelligible by the distinctions
of Hegel. Nor can we deny that he has sometunes interpreted
physics by metaphysics, and confused his own philosophical
fancies with the laws of nature. The very freedom of the
movement is not without suspicion, seeming to imply a state
of the human mind which has entirely lost sight of facts. Nor
can the necessity which is attributed to it be very stringent,
seeing that the successive categories or determinations of thought
in different parts of his writings are arranged by the philosopher
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TIOM.
His terminology too mechanical and technical. 333
in different ways. What is termed necessary evolution seems to Sophist,
be only the order in which a succession of ideas presented Ikti»duc-
themselves to the mind of Hegel at a particular time.
The nomenclature of Hegel has been made by himself out of
the language of common life. He uses a few words only which
are borrowed from his predecessors, or from the Greek philo-
sophy, and these generally in a sense peculiar to himself. The
first stage of his philosophy answers to the word * is,* the second
to the word *has been,' the third to the words *has been* and
*is' combined. In other words, the first sphere is immediate,
the second mediated by reflection, the third or highest returns
into the first, and is both mediate and immediate. As Luther's
Bible was written in the language of the common people, so
Hegel seems to have thought that he gave his philosophy a truly
German character by the use of idiomatic German words. But it
may be doubted whether the attempt has been successful First
because such words as *in sich sejm,' *an sich seyn,' *an und
ftlr sich seyn,' though the simplest combinations of nouns and
verbs, require a difScult and elaborate explanation. The sim-
plicity of the words contrasts with the hardness of their meaning.
Secondly, the use of technical phraseology necessarily separates
philosophy from general literature; the student has to learn a
new language of uncertain meaning which he with difficulty
remembers. No former philosopher had ever carried the use
of technical terms to the same extent as Hegel. The language
of Plato or even of Aristotle is but slightly removed from that of
common life, and was introduced naturally by a series of thinkers :
the language of the scholastic logic has become technical to us,
but in the Middle Ages was the vernacular Latin of priests and
students. The higher spirit of philosophy, the spirit of Plato
and Socrates, rebels against the Hegelian use of language as
mechanical and technical.
Hegel is fond of etymologies and often seems to trifle with
words. He gives etymologies which arc bad, and never con-
siders that the meaning of a word may have nothing to do with
its derivation. He lived before the days of Comparative Philology
or of Comparative Mythology and Religion, which would have
opened a new world to him. He makes no allowance for the
element of chance either in language or thought ; and perhaps
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334 Hegelianism suppresses the individuaL
SophisL there is no greater defect in his system than the want of a sound
iNTKODvc theory of language. He speaks as if thought, instead of being
"^"* identical with language, was wholly independent of it It is not
the actual growth of the mind, but the imaginary growth of the
Hegelian system, which is attractive to him.
Neither are we able to say why of the common forms of thought
some are rejected by him, while others have an undue prominence
given to them. Some of them, such as * ground ' and * existence,'
have hardly any basis either in language or philosophy, while
others, such as * cause ' and * effect,' are but slightly considered.
All abstractions are supposed by Hegel to derive their meaning
from one another. This is true of some, but not of all, and in
different degrees. There is an explanation of abstractions by
the phenomena which they represent, as well as by their relation
to other abstractions. If the knowledge of all were necessary
to the knowledge of any one of them, the mind would sink
under the load of thought Again, in every process of reflection
we seem to require a standing ground, and in the attempt to
obtain a complete analysis we lose all fixedness. If, for example,
the mind is viewed as the complex of ideas, or the difference
between things and persons denied, such an analysis may be
justified from the point of view of Hegel : but we shall find
that in the attempt to criticize thought we have lost the power
of thinking, and, like the Heracliteans of old, have no words
in which our meaning can be expressed. Such an analysis
may be of value as a corrective of popular language or thought^
but should still allow us to retain the fundamental distinctions
of philosophy.
In the Hegelian system ideas supersede persons. The world of
thought, though sometimes described as Spirit or * Geist,' is really
impersonal. The minds of men are to be regarded as one mind,
or more correctly as a succession of ideas. Any comprehensive
view of the world must necessarily be general, and there may be
a use with a view to comprehensiveness in dropping individuals
and their lives and actions. In all things, if we leave out details,
a certain degree of order begins to appear ; at any rate we can
make an order which, with a little exaggeration or disproportion
in some of the parts, will cover the whole field of philosophy.
But are we therefore justified in saying that ideas are the causes
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HON.
Is a great man merely the creature of his age ? 335
of the great movement of the world rather than the personalities Sophist
which conceived them ? The great man is the expression of his Ikttoouc-
time, and there may be peculiar difficulties in his age which he
cannot overcome. He may be out of harmony with his circum-
stances, too early or too late, and then all his thoughts peiish ; his
genius passes away unknown. But not therefore is he to be
regarded as a mere waif or stray in human history, any more
than he is the mere creature or expression of the age in which he
lives. His ideas are inseparable from himself, and would have
been nothing without him. Through a thousand personal in-
fluences they have been brought home to the minds of others.
He starts from antecedents, but he is great in proportion as he
disengages himself from them or absorbs himself in them. More-
over the tjrpes of greatness differ; while one man is the ex-
pression of the influences of his age, another is in antagonism to
them. One man is borne on the surface of the water ; another
is carried forward by the current which flows beneath. The
character of an individual, whether he be independent of circum-
stances or not, inspires others quite as much as his words. What
is the teaching of Socrates apart from his personal history, or the
doctrines of Christ apart from the Divine life in which they are
embodied ? Has not Hegel himself delineated the greatness of
the life of Christ as consisting in his * Schicksalslosigkeit ' or inde-
pendence of the destiny of his race ? Do not persons become
ideas, and is there any distinction between them? Take away
the five greatest legislators, the five greatest warriors, the five
greatest poets, the five greatest founders or teachers of a religion,
the five greatest philosophers, the five greatest inventors, — where
would have been all that we most value in knowledge or in life ?
And can that be a true theory of the history of philosophy which,
in Hegel's own language, * does not allow the individual to have
his right'?
Once more, while we readily admit that the world is relative to
the mind, and the mind to the world, and that we must suppose
a common or correlative growth in them, we shrink from saying
that this complex nature can contain, even in outline, all the
endless forms of Being and knowledge. Are we not * seeking the
living among the dead' and dignifying a mere logical skeleton
with the name of philosophy and almost of God ? When we look
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336 Doubts and queries about Hegel.
Sophist, far away into the primeval sources of thought and belief, do we
Introdoc- suppose that the mere accident of our being the heirs of the
Greek philosophers can give us a right to set ourselves up as
having the true and only standard of reason in the world ? Or
when jve contemplate the infinite worlds in the expanse of
heaven can we imagine that a few meagre categories derived
from language and invented by the genius of one or two great
thinkers contain the secret of the universe ? Or, having regard
to the ages during which the human race may yet endure, do
we suppose that we can anticipate the proportions human know-
ledge may attain even within the short space of one or two
thousand years ?
Again, we have a difficulty in understanding how ideas can be
causes, which to us seems to be as much a figure of speech as the
old notion of a creator artist, *who makes the world by the help of
the demigods ' (Plato, Tim.), or with * a golden pair of compasses '
measures out the circumference of the universe (Milton, P. L.).
We can understand how the idea in the mind of an inventor is
the cause of the work which is produced by it ; and we can dimly
imagine how this universal frame may be animated by a divine
intelligence. But we cannot conceive how all the thoughts of
men that ever were, which are themselves subject to so many
external conditions of climate, country, and the like, even if re-
garded as the single thought of a Divine Being, can be supposed
to have made the world. We appear to be only wrapping up our-
selves in our own conceits — to be confusing cause and eflfect— to
be losing the distinction between reflection and action, between
the human and divine.
These are some of the doubts and suspicions which arise in the
mind of a student of Hegel, when, after living for a time within
the charmed circle, he removes to a little distance and looks back
upon what he has learnt, from the vantage-ground of history and
experience. The enthusiasm of his youth has passed away, the
authority of the master no longer retains a hold upon him. But
he does not regret the time spent in the study of him. He finds
that he has received from him a real enlargement of mind, and
much of the true spirit of philosophy, even when he has ceased
to believe in him. He returns again and again to his writings
as to the recollections of a first love, not undeserving of his
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TION.
An apology for the Hegelian philosophy, 337
admiration still. Perhaps if he were asked how he can admire Sophist
without believing, or what value he can attribute to what he Iktroduc-
knows to be erroneous, he might answer in some such manner as
the following : —
1. That in Hegel hie finds glimpses of the genius of the poet and
of the common sense of the man of the world. His system is not
cast in a poetic form, but neither has all this load of logic ex-
tinguished in him the feeling of poetry. He is the true country-
man of his contemporaries Goethe and Schiller. Many fine
expressions are scattered up and down in his writings, as when
he tells us that * the Crusaders went to the Sepulchre but found it
empty.' He delights to find vestiges of his own philosophy in
the older German mystics. And though he can be scarcely said
to have mixed much in the affairs of men, for, as his biographer
tells us, *he lived for thMtyypars in ft .<;infrlp r^ntn/ yet he is far
from being ignorant of the world. No one can read his writings
without acquiring an insight into life. He loves to touch with the
spear of logic the follies and self-deceptions of mankind, and
make them appear in their natural form, stripped of the disguises
of language and custom. He will not allow men to defend them-
selves by an appeal to one-sided or abstract principles. In this
age of reason any one can too easily find a reason for doing what
he likes (Wallace, p. 197). He is suspicious of a distinction which
is often made between a person's character and his conduct. His
spirit is the opposite of that of Jesuitism or casuistry (Wallace,
p. 181). He affords an example of a remark which has been
often made, that in order to know the world it is not necessary to
have had a great experience of it.
2. Hegel, if not the greatest philosopher, is certainly the greatest
critic of philosophy who ever lived. No one else has equally
mastered the opinions of his predecessors or traced the connexion
of them in the same manner. No one has equally raised the
human mind above the trivialities of the common logic and the
unmeaningness of * mere ' abstractions, and above imaginary pos-
sibilities, which, as he truly says, have no place in philosophy.
No one has won so much for the kingdom of ideas. Whatever
may be thought of his own system it will hardly be denied that he
has overthrown Locke, Kant, Hume, and the so-called philosophy
of common sense! He shows us that only by the study of meta-
VOL. IV. z
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338 The true use and value of Hegel.
Sophist, physics can we get rid of metaphysics, and that those who are in
Introduc- theory most opposed to them are in fact most entirely and hope-
lessly enslaved by them: *die reinen Physiker sind nur die
Thiere.' The disciple of Hegel will hardly become the slave of
any other system-maker. What Bacon seems to promise hiiji he
will find realized in the great German thinker, an emancipation
nearly complete from the influences of the scholastic logic.
3. Many of those who are least disposed to become the votaries
of Hegelianism nevertheless recognize in his system a new logic
supplying a variety of instnunents and methods hitherto unem-
ployed. We may not be able to agree with him in assimilating
the natural order of human thought with the history of philo-
sophy, and still less in identifying both with the divine idea or
nature. But we may acknowledge that the great thinker has
thrown a light on many parts of human knowledge, and has
solved many difficulties. We cannot receive his doctrine of oppo-
sites as the last word of philosophy, but still we may regard it as
a very important contribution to logic. We cannot affirm that
words have no meaning when taken out of their connexion in the
history of thought. But we recognize that their meaning is to
a great extent due to association, and to their correlation with one
another. We see the advantage of viewing in the concrete what
mankind regard only in the abstract. There is much to be said
for his faith or conviction, that God is immanent in the world,—
within the sphere of the human mind, and not beyond it. It was
natural that he himself, like a prophet of old, should regard the
philosophy which he had invented as the voice of God in man.
But this by no means implies that he conceived himself as
creating God in thought. He was the servant of his own ideas
and not the master of them. The philosophy of history and the
history of philosophy may be almost said to have been discovered
by him. He has done more to explain Greek thought than all
other writers put together. Many ideas of development, evo-
lution, reciprocity, which have become the symbols of another
school of thinkers may be traced to his speculations. In the
theology and philosophy of England as well as of Germany, and
also in the lighter literature of both countries, there are always
appearing * fragments of the great banquet ' of Hegel.
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SOPHIST.
PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.
Theodorus. Thbaetetus. Socrates.
An Elbatic Stranger, whom Theodoras and Theaetetus bring with them.
The younger Socrates, who is a silent auditor.
steph. Theodorus, Here we are, Socrates, true to our agreement Sophist.
of yesterday ; and we bring with us a stranger from Elea, theodorus,
who is a disciple of Parmenides and Zeno, and a true SocaxTEs.
philosopher. The EleaUc
Socrates. Is he not rather a god, Theodorus, who comes to ^'^^Yn-
us in the disguise of a stranger ? For Homer says that all troduced
the gods, and especially the god of strangers, are companions Sorus*^
of the meek and just, and visit the good and evil among men. taken'by
And may not your companion be one of those higher powers, Socrates
a cross-examining deity, who has come to spy out our weak- cross-ex-
ness in argument, and to cross-examine us ? amining
Theod. Nay, Socrates, he is not one of the disputatious Theodoras
sort — he is too good for that. And, in my opinion, he is not acknow-
« ,,,,., , • 1 . r- t • • • 1 ledges that,
a god at all ; but divine he certainly is, for this is a title though not
which I should give to all philosophers. f god. he
Soc. Capital, my friend! and I may add that they are ratea^-
almost as hard to be discerned as the gods. For the true vine man.
philosophers, and such as are not merely made up for the
occasion, appear in various forms unrecognized by the
ignorance of men, and they 'hover about cities,* as Homer
declares, looking from above upon human life; and some
think nothing of them, and others can never think enough ;
and sometimes they appear as statesmen, and sometimes as
sophists ; and then, again, to many they seem to be no better
Z 2
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/
340 The modesty of the Eleatic stranger.
Sophist, than madmen. I should like to ask our Eleatic friend, if he
Socrates, would tell US, what is thought about them in Italy, and to 217
Thbodobus, whom the terms are applied.
Theod. What terms ?
A question ^ r- 1 . 1 -i 1
is put to Soc. Sophist, Statesman, philosopher.
him : Are Theod, What is your difficulty about them, and what made
the sophist, , ^
statesman. yOU ask ?
and phiio- Soc. I Want to know whether by his countrymen they are
d^CTcnt or regarded as one or two ; or do they, as the names are three,
the same? distinguish also three kinds, and assign one to each name?
Theod. I dare say that the Stranger will not object to
discuss the question. What do you say, Stranger ?
Stranger, I am far from objecting, Theodorus, nor have I
any difficulty in replying that by us they are regarded as
three. But to define precisely the nature of each of them is
by no means a slight oreasylask.
Theod, You have happened to light, Socrates, almost on
the very question which we were asking our friend before we
came hither, and he excused himself to us, as he does now to
you; although he admitted that the matter had been fully
discussed, and that he remembered the answer.
Thestrao- Soc, Then do not, Stranger, deny us the first favour which
eSierspeak ^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^^ ' ^ ^"^ ^^^^ '^^* ^^^ ^^^^ "^'' ^^^ therefore
at length or I shall only beg of you to say whether you like and are
adopt Uie accustomed to make a long oration on a subject which you
method of , . , ^ , , , % y r
question Want to explain to another, or to proceed by the method of
andanswer. question and answer. I remember hearing a very noble
discussion in which Parmenides employed the latter of the
two methods, when I was a young man, and he was far
advanced in years*.
Str, I prefer to talk with another when he responds
pleasantly, and is light in handj_ if not, I would rather
have my own say. ^ "
Soc, Any one of the present company will respond kindly
to you, and you can choose whom you like of them ; I should
recommend you to take a young person — Theaetetus, for
example — unless you have a preference for some one else.
Str, I feel ashamed, Socrates, being a new-comer into your
society, instead of talking a little and hearing others talk, to
* Cp. Farm., 137 flf.
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The definition of the Sophist, 341
be spinning out a long soliloquy or address, as if I wanted to ' Sophist,
show off. For the true answer will certainly be a very long stramgek,
one, a great deal longer than might be expected from such Theaetetus.
a short and simple question. At the same time, I fear that On the
I may seem rude and ungracious if I refuse your courteous ^^^on he
218 request, especially after what you have said. For I certainly prefers the
cannot object to your proposal, that Theaetetus should ^c^'t^he
respond, having already conversed with him myself, and proi>osaiof
being recommended by you to take him. ^tT^ae-
Theaetetus, But are you sure. Stranger, that this will be tetus
quite so acceptable to the rest of the company as Socrates f^"^^ ^
imagines ? spondent.
Str, You hear them applauding, Theaetetus; after that,
there is nothing more to be said. Well then, I am to argue
with you, and if you tire of the argument, you may complain
of your friends and not of me.
Theaet, I do not think that I shall tire, and if I do, I shall
get my friend here, young Socrates, the namesake of the
elder Socrates, to help; he is about my own age, and my
partner at the gymnasium, and is constantly accustomed to
work with me.
Str. Very good ; you can decide about that for yourself as Firet of au,
we proceed. Meanwhile you and I will begin together and ^^}^^^^
enquire into the nature of the Sophist, first of the three : I
should like you to make out what he is and bring him to
light in a discussion; for at present we are only agreed
about the name, but of the thing to which we both apply the
name possibly you have one notion and I another ; whereas
we ought always to come to an understanding about the
thing itself in terms of a definition, and not merely about the
name minus the definition. Now the tribe of Sophists which As he is not
we are investigating is not easily caught or defined ; and the ^^^^ ^
world has long ago agreed, that if great subjects are to be had better
adequately treated, they must be studied in the lesser and *^n with
. . i. 1 1 /. 11 f something
easier mstances of them before we proceed to the greatest of simpler ;
all. And as I know that the tribe of Sophists is troublesome
and hard to be caught, I should recommend that we practise
beforehand the method which is to be applied to him on
some simple and smaller thing, unless you can suggest a
better way.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
342
The method of dichotomy.
Sophist,
Stranger,
Theaetetus.
e. g. with
the angler.
He is an
artist, and
all art is
either
creative or
acquisitive.
Theaet, Indeed I cannot.
Sir. Then suppose that we work out some lesser example
which will be a pattern of the greater ?
TheaeU Good.
Str, What is there which is well known and not great, and
is yet as susceptible of definition as any larger thing ? Shall
I say an angler? He is familiar to all of us, and not a very '
interesting or important person.
TheaeL He is not.
Str, Yet I suspect that he will furnish us with the sort of 219
definition and line of enquiry which we want.
TheaeU Very good.
Str, Let us begin by asking whether he is a man having
art or not having art, but some other power.
Theaei, He is clearly a man of art. t
Str, And of arts there are two kinds ?
Theaet, What are they?
Str, There is agriculture, and the tending of mortal
creatures, and the art of constructing or moulding vessels,
and there is the art of imitation — all these may be appropri-
ately called by a single name.
Theaet. What do you mean ? And what is the name ?
Str, He who brings into existence something that did not
exist before is said to be a producer, and that which is
brought into existence is said to be produced.
Theaet. True.
Str. And all the arts which were just now mentioned are
characterized by this power of producing ?
Theaet, They are.
Sir, Then let us sum them up under the name of pro-
ductive or creative art.
Theaet. Very good.
Str. Next follows the whole class of learning and cog-
Jlitlpnj. then comes trade, fighting, hunting. And since none"
of these produces anything, but is only engaged in conquering
by word or deed, or in preventing others from conquering,
things which exist and have been already produced — in each
and all of these branches there appears to be an art which ,
may be called acquisitive.
Theaet, Yes, that is the proper name.
Digitized by VjOOQIC
The search for the angler. 343
Str, Seeing, then, that all arts are either acquisitive or Sophist,
creative, in which class shall we place the art of the angler? steangm,
Theaet Clearly in the acquisitive class. Theabteti».
Str. And the acquisitive may be subdivided into two parts : J^® angler
there is exchange, which is voluntary and is effected by gifts,* placed in
hire, purchase ; and the other part of acquisitive, which takes the acquisi-
by force of word or deed, may be termed conquest ? ' ^"^ ^**^*
Theaet. That is implied in what has been said. Acquisition
_, IS voluntary
Str. And may not conquest be again subdivided ? (=ex-
Theaet. How? change) or
forcible
Str. Open force may be called fighting, and secret force 1 (= con-
may have the general name of hunting ? quest).
Theaet. Yes. Conquest
Str. And there is no reason why the art of hunting should Jt^^ung)
not be further divided. or secret
Theaet. How would you make the division ? (=hunimg).
Str. Into the hunting of living and of lifeless prey. \ IP*^ " ,
^, ir ./<, 1 ?. 1 • hunungof
Theaet. Yes, if both kinds exist. animals,
220 Str. Of course they exist; but the hunting after lifeless andofufe-
things having no special name, except some sorts of diving, ^^ ^^^ '
and other small matters, may be omitted ; the hunting after
living things may be called animal hunting.
Theaet. Yes.
Str. And animal hunting may be truly said to have two the former
divisions, land-animal hunting, which has many kinds ^'^d\ |JJ^^^^'^^*^
names, and water-animal hunting, or the hunting after of land
animals who swim ? ^?*"*^ ^^
of water
Theaet. True. animals.
Str. And of swimming ani 
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